


if I run away (how long will I bleed?)

by allirica



Category: Emmerdale
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Closeted Character, Coming Out, Divorce, Explicit Sexual Content, Falling In Love, Happy Ending, Homophobia, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Past Child Abuse, Past Sexual Abuse, Secret Relationship, Self-Harm, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-01-12
Updated: 2020-10-30
Packaged: 2021-02-27 13:34:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 44,013
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22227958
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/allirica/pseuds/allirica
Summary: a canon divergence, reverse affair era AU, where Aaron never came out and, after his return in 2014, while still in the closet, he embarks on a secret relationship with Robert, who is openly bisexual and in the middle of a divorce.  A slow burn with plenty of angst and a happy ending.***"Robert has no intention of going after a straight bloke.  But he is curious about Aaron.  There’s something about him that hooked his attention the second he first laid eyes on him and it’s still there now, teeth sunk right into him."
Relationships: Aaron Dingle/Robert Sugden
Comments: 246
Kudos: 616





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> content warnings for: infidelity (in Chrissie and Robert's relationship); implied explicit sexual content; some angst; mention of past violence (Aaron hitting Paddy); mention of past homophobia (Aaron and Jackson); mention of the fire at the garage.

Robert’s marriage falls apart in the spring.

It lasts approximately a year, two months and three days - which, admittedly, is still longer than the bleak predictions his brother and Chrissie’s father had offered - and it ends at nine o’clock on a Sunday morning. 

The weather is mild, not too warm and not too cold, and there’s a promise of spring rain in the air, giving the breeze a crisp, damp freshness. The sun is bright, though, fracturing the clouds, and the dazzling light does fuck all to ease his searing hangover as he ambles up the drive towards Home Farm, his jacket slung over one shoulder, gravel crackling under his shoes.

He enters through the front door, glancing round the foyer and into the living room, but Lawrence and Lachlan aren’t about, which is good. He’s too knackered to endure Lawrence’s digs and Lachlan’s sullenness today. The cleaner’s been, despite how early it is; the sharpness of the lemon surface polisher she always uses mingles with the scent of beer and whisky clinging to his clothes. His shoes squeak on the hardwood floor; the soles are too slick. They’re new, a present from Chrissie.

He finds her in the kitchen. She’s still in the short, black satin dressing gown that she favours in the warmer months. A hint of red lace peeks out from underneath it, skimming the middle of her thighs; the chemise he ostensibly gave to her for Valentine’s Day, the one she chose and bought herself. Her dark hair is a little messy from sleep still, tumbling down her back, and she’s sat, leaning in one chair with her long, tanned legs propped up on another, calves rubbing together idly. The tasteful nude polish on her fingernails is muted under the light in the kitchen; the vibrant scarlet polish on her toenails gleams. There’s a breakfast spread in front of her; toast slathered with butter and jam, orange juice and coffee, a platter of her favourite fruit, some sliced avocado. She flips through the copy of _Insider_ lazily balanced on her lap and reaches out, plucking a blueberry from the plate. She pops it into her mouth and chews without looking up at him.

“Finally home, then?” she asks calmly.

Robert idles in the doorway, gazing at her. Spring sunshine slants through the window, limning her in soft, warm light; it plays in her hair, catching on the different shades of brown. There was a time when he’d be all over her, taking advantage of the empty house; a time when he’d taste the sweetness of the berry juice on her tongue and trace his own over the curves of her body.

There’s an excuse already ready, poised on the tip of his tongue. A meeting that ran over, missed his train home; had to book a hotel room in the middle of bloody nowhere, no reception to call and tell her. He’ll rattle it off and she’ll nod and accept it, and they’ll eat breakfast and go upstairs to shower together.

Instead, he says, “I’m bisexual.”

It’s the first time he’s ever said it out loud. It’s only the seventh time he’s allowed himself to think the word in the privacy of his own head. It’s a sort of relief, a release, a weight lifted off his shoulders and easing off his chest, but there’s guilt throbbing behind his eyes, something like regret writhing in his ribcage.

Chrissie turns the page in her magazine. “I know,” she replies.

He swallows. “I was with a bloke last night.”

She simply nods. Robert stares at her, confusion knotting in his throat at her blitheness. He’d expected tears, expected screaming and thrown glasses and arguing. Her cool calmness throws him off guard.

“He isn’t the first,” he adds. “I’ve cheated on you before. With men and women. One night stands.”

“I know,” she repeats. She glances up and smiles, small and bitter. “I’m not stupid, Robert. I’ve known from the start. Even before you put the bloody ring on my finger.” She snaps the magazine closed and gives a lazy stretch. “I’ve been shagging the housecleaner for the last three months.”

Robert blinks. The housekeeper. Caitlin. He doesn’t know her well at all, barely even sees her despite her being employed at the house he lives in. Any time he found himself in the same room as her, she’d duck her head, hide behind her blonde hair, and quickly scuttle away. He’d assumed she was just the shy and retiring type, but he supposes it makes sense now he knows she’s been fucking his wife for months.

It _all_ makes sense, actually. The tips Chrissie insisted on giving Caitlin, the second chances when she failed to show up on time. The times Chrissie would decline an invite out to the pub with him, instead staying at home on her own. The missed dates and skipped meetings. All the signs were there, he just hadn’t seen them; he’d been too tangled up in his secrets and lies, too busy betraying her to notice her betraying him.

“Blondes,” he says after a moment. “Suppose you have a type, then.”

“Blonde, tall and can make me come so hard I see stars,” she agrees evenly. “I suppose I do.” 

He clears his throat. “So. What now?”

Chrissie eats a strawberry. She licks the juice from her fingers before she slides her engagement ring and wedding band off. She leans forward to place them, stacked, in the centre of the table. Robert steps further into the room and removes his own ring, dropping it onto the table next to hers. The metal rattles and clinks and then falls silent, and they both look down at them for a long, silent moment.

Then she gets to her feet. “Now,” she says. “You pack your things and you go. You’ll be hearing from my divorce lawyer.”

He nods. He’d expected as much. He turns back towards the doorway, trying to ignore the pounding in his head and the hollow churn in his stomach. His mouth tastes of stale whisky and cigarettes; the bloke he’d shagged had been a smoker. 

“You won’t be getting anything from me,” she adds. “If you think you’ll get any money, you’re wrong.” 

He stops, looks over his shoulder at her. He’d loved her once. Perhaps not passionately; they’d never had any problem with their sex life, but the wild desperation didn’t spill out of the bedroom. But he had loved her. It wasn’t all about her family, or her business and her connections, or her wealth. He’d cared for her. He supposes he still does love her, in a way. Not the right way. It’s a kinder sort of love, gentler, the kind that makes him tell her the truth even though it means losing everything, the kind that makes him feel guilty for hurting her. He loves her, but he isn’t _in_ love with her, not anymore. 

Still, he smiles. “You just admitted to infidelity, too,” he points out.

“Prove it.”

Her chin tips up and her eyes spark with challenge, and it’s bittersweet in it’s familiarity. Robert’s smile widens. 

“See you around, Chrissie,” he offers.

Her mouth pulls into a slow, reluctant smile. “Goodbye, Robert.”

And he leaves. Packs up the few things in the house that actually fully belong to him, leaves the watch and the shoes and the designer suits Chrissie bought him on the bed, and walks out of the house with two weekend bags slung over his shoulder and a hangover that would make lesser men weep. 

He looks back just once as he crunches towards his car. Not the Austin-Healey, another gift from Chrissie and the only one that actually bothers him to be leaving behind. The Audi; he’d bought it, after all, blown all of his savings on it to impress Chrissie when they first started dating. He dumps his bags into the passenger seat, climbs in, and glances up at the house.

Home Farm. Ironic. It’s only been his home for five months. He hadn’t wanted to move here, didn’t want to be dragged back to the village he was born in, raised in, and chased out of. But he’d been dragged back all the same by Lawrence and his impulsive decision to move his business and his life to a tiny, rural place in the Dales. But he’d tried. He really had. He’d helped to make Home Farm their own, tried to integrate back into the community despite Vic and Val being the only ones actually happy to see his face again. 

And now here he is. Back in Emmerdale, homeless, with a pale strip of skin on his finger where his wedding ring had sat just an hour ago.

***

Spring rains it’s way through to summer. July brings a thick, stifling heatwave that has the villagers out sunbathing and complaining about the hot weather, and August fractures it with warm rain and crackling thunder. 

He’d stayed with Val and Eric for exactly two days before he’d had enough, deciding that his pride could take the hit of crashing at Vic’s place if it meant not ever having to see a shirtless Eric kissing his step-aunt again. Unsurprisingly, news of his split from Chrissie, followed by the revelation of his infidelity and his bisexuality, rocked the village for about a week before some new drama snagged everyone’s attention and the gossip mill shifted away from him. 

By the middle of August, no one pays him much attention at all. He’s still a bit of an outsider despite being a Sugden, on the fringes of the community since few of them trust him and even fewer actually like him, but he goes about his daily life without any grief. The few times he sees Chrissie outside of divorce meetings are so civil that it makes his teeth ache. He sees Lawrence twice; once to dodge a sloppy punch, and once to pretend to listen to his rant about Robert getting nothing. He sees Lachlan a few times, but the runt pays little mind to him, which is about as much as he can hope for, really.

After a week of drizzle and thunderstorms, a day of warmth and sunshine finally rolls around. It’s a Saturday, too, so half of the village pack themselves into the local pub for cold drinks. The smell of sun-kissed skin, sweat and beer is thick and overwhelming. Hazy golden sunlight spills through the frosted windows in the doors, highlighting dust motes in the air. Most of the Dingles are propping up the bar and, unsurprisingly, there’s a lot of noise from the rabble. Robert can barely hear himself think. 

But for once, the peanut gallery that is Chas and Charity isn’t watching Robert. Instead, the drama seems to come from within their lot, which isn’t a huge surprise. Robert’s been away for years, but he knows that the Dingles haven’t changed much; if there’s smoke, it’s usually coming from their fire. 

Robert watches Chas lean over the bar to talk quietly to Cain. Moira’s with them, a frown on her face as she keeps trying to call someone, mobile pressed to her ear as she looks between the Dingle siblings. He can’t catch any of what they’re saying, but it’s clear that more experienced curtain-twitchers in the village have been doing what they do best, and the gossip mill is in full swing, nosy parkers exchanging sordid whispers as they glance at Chas. Naturally, Vic is all caught up on the gossip, too.

“Do you reckon it’s true?” she asks. “Aaron’s really back?”

Andy shrugs. “Dunno. If he is, he’s stupider than I thought.”

They’re sat around the circular table near the doors. Vic’s put herself between Robert and Andy, but they’re managing to be civil for once, if not friendly. Katie, leaning into Andy’s side, isn’t bothering to even try to be polite, but then, Robert supposes he isn’t, either. Diane’s left Chas to tend to the bar alone and she’s sat on Robert’s other side, Doug next to her, the two of them blithely ignoring the tension shrouding the table. Adam’s leaning back in the chair opposite Robert. He isn’t entirely sure _why_ Adam’s here, except for the fact that he keeps sniffing around Vic. 

Sinking the rest of his pint, Robert asks, “Who is this Aaron bloke, anyway?”

“Aaron. Chas’s son. You must remember him.” Vic raises her eyebrows. “Chavvy little scrote who visited Chas sometimes. Always on his phone or causing hassle for someone. Hell of a gob on him.”

Robert shrugs. He has a vague memory of some scowling, mouthy, scrawny little kid hanging around Chas a few years ago, remembers seeing him mashing through a game on his mum’s mobile at a wedding, but he can’t quite imagine that kid grown up, even though it’s been bloody forever since he left Emmerdale. 

“Right,” he says. “And, what? Now he’s Yorkshire’s most wanted criminal?”

Vic rolls her eyes. “Hardly.” She pauses to sip from her lemonade, ice rattling in the glass, before she explains, “He came back ages ago. Got involved in drugs or something, so his dad kicked him out. Chas brought him back here. He was a right gobshite.”

“Says the lass who had a thing with him,” Adam mutters, then winces as Vic kicks his ankle under the table, a scowl on her face.

“Seriously?” Robert asks. He’s fully aware that Vic has crap taste in blokes, but a criminal?

“He’s good looking, alright? Or he was back then, anyway. Apart from the gel and the trackies.” Vic shrugs. “But he were fit and I reckon he’s nice, underneath it all. It only happened the once and he stuck up for me with Daz. He was nice to me, ya know. We were mates after that.”

“So, what did he do?” Robert asks.

“What _didn’t_ he do?” Doug shakes his head. “Tried to set fire to John Barton’s barn -.”

“A misunderstanding,” Adam cuts in, frowning.

“He battered Paddy, even though he took Aaron in and looked after him. And he punched some poor lad just for being gay.” Diane sniffs slightly. “He’s a wrong’un, that Aaron.”

“You don’t know what really happened,” Vic says quietly. “That bloke withdrew his statement, remember?”

“’Cause he were bullied into it, I reckon,” Doug replies, eyeing the Dingles. “The charges weren’t dropped, either. He still got sentenced to community payback.”

“He was dead nice,” Vic argues. “Yeah, I know he had his faults, but – but he tried to stop that car, remember? The one that crashed into the shop. He saved Nicola. I don’t think he’s the person you’re making him out to be.”

“He helped out at Butlers,” Andy points out, clearly trying to play peacekeeper. “Did a load of work up there for free. Dunno what he was working through, but he were a lot of help. Seemed to kick himself into gear a bit, too. And he was a lifesaver after John -.” He stops, glances at Adam. “When he wasn’t about anymore. Aaron stepped in.” 

“And then he set fire to his own uncle’s garage,” Diane persists. “With his uncle still in it.”

Adam sets his pint down a little too forcefully, beer sloshing up the sides and spilling over the rim onto the table. “We don’t know what happened,” he snaps. “He loves Cain. Proper hero-worshipped him, remember? He ran straight in there to get him out.”

“After leaving him there to die!” Diane argues. “He confessed to it, then skipped his court hearing. He did a runner.”

“A real criminal mastermind, then,” Robert remarks dryly.

“No one knows where he went. But he just disappeared. He’s been gone ever since.” Andy shrugs. “Two years on the run. Can’t have been fun for the lad.”

Robert raises his eyebrows. He tries to match his hazy memory of the scrawny kid with some adult clever enough to go on the run and keep off the coppers’ radar for two whole years. It’s a bit of a struggle. He can’t imagine this fit version that Vic’s talking about, either; he tries to picture an adult version of the kid in his memory, and all he can conjure up is some weird, oversized, chavvy man-child. 

“No one?” he asks, and Vic snorts.

“Well, doubtful. I mean, he’s a Dingle.”

“He’s a Livesy,” Adam corrects her, scowling.

“Yeah, but that’s just a name. He’s a proper Dingle through and through. I reckon Chas and her lot know where he is. But they wouldn’t tell anyone, let alone the coppers. Apparently, they showed up last night to question her and she said she hasn’t heard from him since he did a runner.” Vic pauses, then squints at Adam. “Are you _sure_ you don’t have a clue where he is? You were his best mate.”

“I’m sure,” he replies firmly.

“What about that lass he was knocking about with?” Andy asks. “After your Holly dumped him?”

“Leah,” Adam says. “She moved to France, remember? Her brother, Ed, he’s a rugby player and got signed up for a team over there, so the whole family went. Aaron was well gutted.”

“Reckon he followed?” Vic asks.

Adam shakes his head. “Just leave it, yeah? Aaron ain’t back. He’s not stupid.”

“You sure about that?” Diane asks.

Adam exhales slowly, setting his empty pint glass down. “Yeah,” he says tightly. “I am. ‘Cause I’m his best mate. I actually spent time with him instead of just judging him right off the bat like you lot. He’s a lot more clever than most people round here, ya know.”

Katie clears her throat. “He’s Chas’s son,” she reminds them. “We shouldn’t be talking about him like this.”

Diane, unsurprisingly, instantly goes silent when her perfect daughter in law speaks up for Aaron. Shaking his head, Robert leans back in his seat, and Katie glances his way, frowning slightly. Then she props her elbow on the table and offers him a sweet smile.

“So, Robert,” she says. “How’s the divorce going?”

“Why?” he replies without missing a beat. “You looking for tips?”

“Robert,” Andy warns. 

“What? She asked. Reckon she’s squirreling away divorce advice for when she inevitably gets bored of the early nights and talking about tractors and kids?” 

“You mean the tractors for the farm that I help out on,” Katie snips back. “And my stepkids, who I _love_? Who do _you_ love, Robert? Except for yourself?”

“Fair point,” he agrees easily. “Maybe I should take a leaf out of your book, then. ‘Cause if we’re making a note of everyone you’ve ever ‘loved’, well, it’d be a pretty long list, wouldn’t it?” 

“Oi,” Andy snaps, loud enough that several people glance over. “Don’t you dare talk to her like that.”

“Hey,” Chas calls to them. “I don’t want any trouble, alright? Take it outside if you’re gonna fight again.”

Diane sighs. “Oh, Robert. It was going so well.”

He bites down on his tongue, fighting back the urge to point out that he isn’t the only one at fault here, that Katie’s being just as bad, but he knows from experience that will get him nowhere. He knows Diane cares about him. But he also knows exactly where her loyalties lie, and it isn’t with him. It’s with Andy and Katie. It always has been.

“I’ll get going, then,” he says instead, getting to his feet.

“Rob,” Vic protests. “You don’t have to.”

He ruffles her hair, smiling when she tries to duck away. Scowling, she smooths the frizzy strands back into place.

“See ya later,” he offers.

“Yeah,” she agrees with a sigh. “Later.”

He flicks his fingers in a lazy wave to the others, ignoring Diane’s pursed mouth and Katie’s frown. Adam doesn’t seem to even register Robert’s leaving; his focus is on his pint, his brows drawn together. Shaking his head, Robert heads for the doors, pausing when they swing open and Chrissie walks in, Lawrence and Lachlan right behind her. She smiles when she sees him.

“Don’t leave on my account,” she drawls, and he grins.

“As if I ever would,” he counters.

Her eyes sparkle and her smile widens before she turns away, sauntering towards the bar. Offering Lawrence a wink that earns him a dark frown, Robert steps backwards out of the doors, then turns and leaves the pub entirely. 

***

Aaron Livesy is the centre of gossip for days. After James gets taken in by the coppers for questioning, revealing that Aaron _has_ been back, the curtain-twitchers are all over it like dogs after a bone, the old biddies given renewed life by the promising taste of juicy gossip. 

It dies down after a couple of days with no sightings, but the police still hang around the village, knocking on doors and lurking round corners, keeping an eye out. For the most part, Robert ignores it, not really interested in the goings on of one wayward Dingle and whatever trouble he’s in. 

Still, when, on a hot, sunny afternoon, he sees a new face in the village, he doesn’t put two and two together, not at first. Because the bloke he spots strolling towards the vet clinic is fucking _gorgeous_. 

He _is_ a little dodgy looking, wearing dark jeans and a black hoodie despite the weather, the sleeves rolled up to his elbows. But he’s fit; tanned, broad shouldered, well groomed, with dark hair and a hint of stubble. He’s good-looking enough that he catches Robert’s attention, stops him in his tracks as he’s walking down the pavement. 

Apparently, Robert’s not the only one who’s noticed him.

“Aaron Livesy!” A copper bellows, stepping back from where he’d been chatting to Bob. “Stay where you are!”

_This_ is Aaron? He’d been picturing some weird, overgrown version of the scrawny kid in his memory. Either that or some scruffy, greasy haired chav in trackies and a knockoff cap. He hadn’t expected him to be so bloody handsome, that’s for sure. 

Panic flashes across Aaron’s face and he takes off, sprinting full speed down the grassy verge and down the road. It’s obvious where he’s headed and, as he hears the officer behind him rattle off a warning into his radio and start to give chase, Robert finds himself moving, crossing the road into the narrow lane cutting between houses.

He sees Aaron coming and moves aside as he sprints past him, barely glancing his way. Vaulting over a rusty gate, Aaron disappears into a garden, out of sight in seconds.   
One of the coppers skids round the corner and Robert makes a show of losing his footing, stumbling and knocking into the bloke’s shoulder. He tumbles to the ground with a low ‘ _oof_ ’ and ignores the hand Robert offers to him as he scrambles back to his feet.

“Oi!” he snaps. “I could do you for obstruction of justice, you know.”

“Sorry, officer,” Robert replies blithely. “I tripped. But, uh, I saw a lad running, if that’s who you’re after? He went that way.”

He points to the row of gardens in the opposite direction of where Aaron went. Nodding, the officer takes off, his partner rounding the corner to jog after him as the two of them rush into one of the gardens, in hot pursuit and going the completely wrong way. Smirking slightly, Robert tucks his hands into his pockets and turns. 

There’s a car at the mouth of the lane. The door opens and Cain Dingle leans out, giving him a nod. 

“Aye,” he says. “I reckon our Chas will give you a pint on the house for that.”

Robert shrugs. “Make it some top shelf whisky and I might take her up on it.”

He snorts. “Don’t try ya luck, mate.” He ducks back into his car, slams the door, and reverses before disappearing off down the road, presumably on his way to try and sort out the clusterfuck his nephew has gotten into.

Robert glances towards the garden Aaron had vaulted into, eyeing the shed. He can’t see any movement and there’s no sign that Aaron’s there anymore, but he still feels an itch under his skin, like he’s being watched.

Shaking his head, he walks away.

***

Chas does give him a free drink. She doesn’t exactly look happy about it, her mouth pursed and her gaze cool as she pulls the pint. She sets it down on the bar hard enough that the foam sloshes slightly over the rim. 

“I don’t trust you,” she says, and Robert raises his eyebrows.

“Lovely,” he replies. “Cheers.”

She just looks at him, eyes narrowed, but he doesn’t let it bother him. She’s best friends with Katie. Of course she doesn’t trust him; she’s spent years listening to the poison Katie has to say about him. Granted, plenty of it is well deserved, but still. He’s tempted to ask her if she’s capable of forming opinions of her own, but he’s smart enough to resist the urge. She’s a Dingle. That family are like bears. Poke them, and you deserve what you get.

“But,” she adds after a moment, reluctant. “You helped our Aaron earlier, so. Cheers. I suppose.”

He smirks slightly. “No problem.”

Her mouth tightens further, lips thinning, but she doesn’t rise to it. Which is good; he’s heard that, like most of her family, she’s got a bloody good right hook. She turns away instead, fixing a bright smile onto her face as she approaches another punter. 

Picking up his drink, Robert finds one of the smaller tables and takes a seat at it. The pub isn’t too busy; it’s only late afternoon, after all. It’s quiet. He takes a sip of his pint. After the heat of the day, the cool drink is refreshing, and he leans back in his chair. 

He doesn’t know what he’s still doing here. If he had any sense, he’d leave. Do what he did last time and disappear, leave nothing but dust and rumours behind him. He’s got the money now to skip the working his arse off at whatever jobs he could get part of it all and just go wherever the hell he likes. Travel, maybe. Try and get back into business now he’s been firmly booted out of Lawrence’s company. Start anew again, forge a new life out of the ashes of this one; somewhere warm and sunny, perhaps, far away from the sloping fields and small villages of the Dales. 

But he finds that he doesn’t want to leave. For one thing, he doesn’t want to give Andy and Katie the satisfaction. He knows it’s petty and he doesn’t give a fuck. He spent years away. He reckons he’s owed their leniency now he’s returned. Emmerdale has always been his home too, after all; he has as much of a right to be here as any other villager. 

For another thing, the Whites have no intention of packing up and moving on again. Lawrence is firmly settled now, his company entrenched in its new location, and they have the big house on the hill. Robert doesn’t see why Chrissie and her family should get to stay while he leaves. Taking off now would feel like some sort of surrender, one he isn’t willing to offer. 

But, most of all, he doesn’t want to leave Vic again. He’d be lying if he said being around his sister again hasn’t been the best thing to come out of returning to Emmerdale. He’d missed her. He’d miss her ever more if he left now, after getting to know her again. Besides, this village, for all of its faults, is his home. He doesn’t want to go. Maybe in the future, when he gets restless, but not now. 

Still. It’s hard not to feel strangely lonely. He’d spent plenty of time on his own when he first left, going from place to place, earning and saving money before he put down roots in London long enough to seek out qualifications and experience in business. But here, when his only real ally is Vic, he feels isolated. The memory of his mum, the memory of his dad, they linger in every nook and cranny of the village like ghosts. His past stains every inch of the place, rotten and poisonous. He can’t turn his back on everything, not when he’s right back in the core of it all, and he feels lonely. He feels unsettled.

Noise draws his attention to the bar. It’s Chas; she answers her phone, turns her back in a way that is so suspicious Robert almost laughs, and then she’s ducking out the back. Robert’s willing to bet half his savings that it’s something to do with Aaron. The call has been sent out and the Dingles will be rallying together to fix whatever mess one of their errant own has got himself into. 

It’s stupid to feel jealous, especially of a family like the Dingle clan. But he does. He wonders what it would be like, to have that steely, unwavering loyalty, to be able to turn to any member of your family and know that they would do anything to help you. He wonders what it would feel like to actually, truly belong. 

He doesn’t know much about Aaron Dingle, but he does know one thing: he’s fucking lucky.

***

Soon, the gossip mill turns away from Aaron’s shock return to the village and run from the law, and instead the hushed whispers and muttered conversations in the pub, in the café, and in the street focus on the surprise of Aaron suddenly, inexplicably, turning himself in to the police, closely followed by Adam Barton, after two years, admitting out of the blue that _he’d_ been the one to set fire to the garage.

It’s obvious that Moira knows. She keeps her chin up as she walks into the pub, Adam right behind her, but there’s a glimmer in her eyes, a muted sort of guilt. Robert isn’t surprised. What he _is_ surprised about is the complete _lack_ of surprise from the Dingles. They’d known all along that Adam was the true culprit and the fact that they kept it a secret for him, that they allowed Aaron to take the blame and do a runner, is a shock, given how that family usually operates, closing ranks and baring teeth at the slightest provocation against one of their own.

Adam is sullen and quiet. He looks crushed. He doesn’t even flinch at the looks thrown his way, judgement and condemnation from the moral brigade of Emmerdale, but he does lift his head when he notices that Vic is tending the bar.

“Vic…” He starts, and she frowns.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” 

“I couldn’t.”

She shakes her head, jaw tight as she says, “Two years, Adam. Two years you lied to everyone. Two years Aaron took the blame for ya. He had to leave everything behind and do a runner. He had to put up with everyone thinking he’s some thug. And now he’s in remand in prison while you get bail?”

“I know,” Adam says quietly. “Look, I’m not proud of it, alright? I wanted to tell the truth back then, but Aaron…he weren’t having it. He wanted to go. He wanted to get away from it all.”

“That doesn’t make it okay!” she insists, and he closes his eyes for a second.

“I know,” he repeats. “I hate myself for it. I hate that he’s locked up and could get sent down even though I was the one who fucked everything up. I hate that I let him down. He’s my best mate, Vic. I hate all of this.”

She purses her lips, but pulls a pint, setting it down in front of him. “When is he in court?”

“Friday.”

Nodding slightly, she says, “I can’t be there. Work. But if you get to see him…tell him I’m thinking of him, will ya?”

“Yeah. ‘Course.”

Robert sinks the rest of his pint and sets the empty glass down on the bar. He watches as Moira and Adam shuffle over to a table, trying to ignore the stares and gossiping around them. It’s obvious that Adam means it; he really is completely crushed over what he’s done. 

He still can’t wrap his head around it. He has no clue who Aaron is, not really. He’s _never_ known him, beyond bumping into each other when they were kids. But the idea of someone doing that, taking the fall for something as serious as arson, and going on the run, leaving everything and everyone they love behind for a life of hiding, unable to come home…he doesn’t get it. He doesn’t get what someone like Adam did to deserve that kind of loyalty and protection. He’s a little envious. He’s never had a friend like that. He has no idea what it must be like and he tries to understand that depth of love for a mate, but he can’t. 

All it does is stoke at his curiosity about Aaron Dingle.

So on Friday, he goes to the pub in the early afternoon, orders a Coke from Vic, and sits, slouched at the bar. Finn comes in after a while, easing onto the stool next to Robert, and Vic visibly perks up despite her long shift. 

Mostly, he listens to them talk, bantering back and forth like a pair of old biddies. He joins in now and then, but he keeps an eye on Zak and Lisa. The two of them are stood further down the bar, heads leaned close together, their worry palpable. He wonders just how long Aaron could get sent down for. Skipping bail and perverting the court of justice might earn a lighter sentence than arson, but Robert knows it’s still not likely to be lenient.

After a couple of hours, the doors open, and Robert straightens when he sees Aaron walk through them. He’s wearing a suit and his hair is neatly groomed, and he looks even more gorgeous this close-up. The suit does fucking fantastic things for him. He saunters in, but there’s a slight hunch to his shoulders, and Robert supposes it must be weird to walk right into the pub after spending so long on the run.

Adam’s right behind him, Chas hot on his heels, and he grins.

“Hey,” he says. “Look who’s back. The boy got off, didn’t he?”

Zak and Lisa both cheer, crowding in to hug Aaron, and Chas smiles, shakes her head slightly.

“Well,” she says. “Suspended sentence.”

“Same thing,” Adam remarks.

Aaron laughs, shoving his best friend playfully in the shoulder. He looks at home here. Robert knows that it _is_ his home, but there’s something about the way Aaron fits right in, as if he never left. Robert’s been back for months and he’s still on the periphery of the village he was born and raised in, but Aaron slots right back into place like he belongs, like he was never even gone. 

“Get the lad a pint,” Zak says, and Vic offers them a smile.

“Already on it,” she assures them.

And then she looks at Robert and Finn. Seeing the looks on their faces as they watch Aaron and his family, she rolls her eyes.

“Could you be any more obvious?” she gripes.

“Why didn’t you tell me he looked like that?” Finn counters.

He’s young, naïve and eager, the crush obvious on his face. But Robert has to agree with him. Vic had said Aaron was good-looking, but she hadn’t given him justice, not at all. Aaron’s fucking gorgeous. In his suit, he looks leaner than his bulky hoodie had implied, but his shoulders are broad, his chest and arms and thighs strong. The tease of stubble looks good with the sharpness of his jaw and his tan. His arse is pretty incredible, too. 

“He’s got a point,” Robert says. “He’s fit.”

“He is,” she allows. “Wherever he went, he looks bloody good for it. But he’s bad news. So you,” she points a finger at Robert. “Stay well away. ‘Cause, one, he’s straight. And, two, he’s trouble, yeah?”

He raises his eyebrows. “I thought you and him were mates.”

“We were. But that don’t mean I have no clue what he’s like. He’s bad news, Rob. I mean it. Leave him well alone.”

He shrugs. He has no intention of going after a straight bloke. But he _is_ curious about Aaron. There’s something about him that hooked his attention the second he first laid eyes on him and it’s still there now, teeth sunk right into him. He’s not sure what he hopes to achieve from it, but at the very least, it’s a distraction. It’s something a bit more interesting than his divorce and the dull minutiae of the village.

Aaron drains his pint pretty quickly. Clearly, he’d missed beer while he was remanded at Hotten prison. He claps Adam on the back, laughing at something he says, and it lights up his whole face. Robert can’t help but watch as he approaches the bar.

“Hey, you,” Vic greets. “Welcome home.”

He smiles. “Cheers. It’s good to be back. Another pint, ta.”

She nods and grabs a clean glass. Aaron digs into his pocket for some cash. 

“I’ll get it,” Finn pipes up, a little too eager. “It’s, uh. I mean, it’s on me?”

Vic shoots him an incredulous look, mouth thinning slightly. But Aaron just glances over at Finn, expression calm. There’s a hint of amusement in his eyes. This close, Robert can see how pale they are. His mouth curls into a slight smile.

“Cheers, mate,” he says easily. “But I’m straight.”

He throws it out there, blunt, letting Finn down instantly, but there’s no judgement or warning in his tone like Vic had clearly expected. Despite this, Finn still blusters slightly, embarrassment clear on his face as he tries to recover.

“Right,” he says quickly. “Yeah, I – I know. Vic said. I just thought. A welcome back sort of…sort of thing, I suppose. Welcome back? Pint?”

Aaron glances at Vic, not bothering to hide his amusement. “Cheers,” he repeats. “But I’ve got it.” 

He places a crumpled note on the bar and leans against it as Vic sorts his change. There’s relief on her face as she drops the coins into his waiting palm, her smile warmer, more genuine now she knows he’s not going to be a dickhead to her best friend. 

Aaron pockets his change and pushes away from the bar. He picks up his pint and Robert finds himself stepping closer. 

“Robert,” he offers, holding out his hand. “I’m Vic’s brother.”

He pauses, eyeing Robert for a second. “Okay,” he says slowly, like he’s wondering why Robert’s bothering to tell him this. “That’s…nice?”

Slowly, Robert lowers his hand. “Well. Welcome home.”

“Thanks.” Aaron throws one last bemused look between the three of them, then turns away, joining his family and Adam at one of the tables.

Robert feels wrong-footed and strangely young for the first time in years. He hasn’t been awkward or uncertain in what feels like forever; he knows what he wants and he knows how to get what he wants. He knows how to get someone into his bed, or how to secure a deal, or how to charm someone into liking him. He’s had plenty of practise at it, after all, and he’s bloody good at it. But after Aaron’s puzzled rebuttal, he feels like a fumbling teenager all over again.

When he turns back to Vic, she offers a smile, clearly relieved that, whatever Aaron’s been like in the past, he’s clearly got over it. 

“Looks like he’s grown up,” she remarks. 

Robert glances over at Aaron, only to find the other man’s gaze on him. It flickers away the second Robert looks at him. 

The curiosity in Robert’s belly burns hotter.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> content warnings for: brief mention of drugs (Aaron's past before returning to Emmerdale); brief mention of violence; brief mention of the fire at the garage; discussion of past suicide attempt (Aaron's); brief reference to past infidelity (Robert and Chrissie); mention of harmless drunkenness.

Robert doesn’t know a whole lot about Ross Barton. They move in different circles, despite living in the same village; Robert recognises something unpredictable in Ross, so he makes a point of keeping his distance. But, after being back in Emmerdale for the past few months, he has learned three things:

First, that Ross Barton is a law unto himself, and completely, stupidly reckless with it.

Second, that Ross Barton is just as adept at pissing off people as Robert is, which, frankly, is really saying something. 

And, third, that Ross Barton, for as smart and quick-tongued as he can be, he can also be a complete fucking idiot, with a fuse so short that he might as well not even have one.

Robert has no clue about the circumstances surrounding Aaron’s return, only that it had something to do with Adam and Ross. All he knows is that, from the second Aaron makes it clear he’s back for good, Ross seems to be gunning for him. He hates him with a scalding intensity, vicious and volatile. The instant the two of them are in the same room it’s like fire and gasoline, just waiting to collide and explode. Violence crackles in the air, threatening to spill over at the slightest provocation.

Sat at a quiet table with a pint in front of him, Robert watches as Aaron marches into the pub, a scowl fixed on his face. Ross straightens, squares his shoulders, and turns to face him, his expression stony. When Aaron goes to walk past him, he blocks his path. 

“You going somewhere?” he asks.

Aaron tips his chin up, meeting his gaze head on. “Yeah. Shower, mate. Been working all day. Since, you know, I actually have a job still, unlike some.”

He goes to step past Ross, giving him a hard clap on the shoulder that’s anything but friendly, and Ross reacts, throwing Aaron’s hand off with a harsh snap of his shoulder. He crowds into Aaron’s space, but Aaron doesn’t back down, pushing him back roughly.

Aaron’s different from Ross. He controls himself better, has a firmer leash on his anger. He’s mercurial, yet there’s a sort of steadiness to it, too, that Ross doesn’t have. But it’s still there, inside him; volatile and dangerous, violence held back but ready to lash out at any second, and Ross seems adept at finding and pushing the exact right buttons to get him to let loose that capacity for destruction.

Before fists can start flying, Cain shoves between the two of them, forcing Aaron back.

“Oi,” he snaps. “Enough. Go on.” When Aaron just stares Ross down over his uncle’s shoulder, expression cold but his gaze lit up, Cain barks, “I said _get_.” 

Aaron rubs a hand over his mouth but complies, movements jerky as he storms through to the back. Cain gives Ross one last, firm push to stop him from following.

“You too,” he adds coolly. “I suggest you get going.”

“I’m alright here, actually,” Ross bites back, reaching for his half-finished pint.

Cain snatches it off the bar before Ross can take it, lifting it to his own mouth. He drains the rest of it in two big gulps, then sets the empty glass back down, a chilling gleam in his eyes as he looks at Ross.

“Wasn’t a suggestion,” he says mildly. “Piss off.”

That’s the Cain that Robert remembers; violent and unpredictable, always playing by his own rules, always ready to start and finish any fight he comes across. Ross’s jaw tightens but he shoves away from the bar, marching out of the pub. Diane watches him go, shaking her head slightly.

“Your Aaron’s going to land himself in trouble if he carries on,” she warns Cain. “He’s on a suspended sentence, isn’t he?”

Robert reckons that’s Ross’s game: provoking Aaron until he gets a reaction, knowing full well that he’ll get sent down if he’s caught fighting. It’s petty and stupid, and Ross Barton all over. 

Cain just nods at Diane’s words, expression pensive as he looks towards the back, where Aaron had disappeared. The Dingles always look out for each other, but Cain seems genuinely concerned for his nephew, genuinely intent on protecting him. It doesn’t quite match with Robert’s less than pleasant memories of the thug tearing through the village years ago, but there’s no denying that Aaron has Cain’s respect and affection, well beyond what their family connection warrants.

Robert wonders what Aaron did to earn it.

***

The weather cools slightly as September starts to draw to a close, but some warmth and mild weather lingers, offering one last pocket of respite before autumn creeps over the village.

The garage is open and Aaron’s focused on a car parked the forecourt. He seems to be the only one working and the radio is on, some indie song filling the air like a buzz. He’s wearing his dark blue overalls, but the top part is tied loosely around his waist since it’s warm, leaving him in a grey, oil-streaked T-shirt underneath. The fabric clings to his upper arms as he twists a wrench effortlessly, his brows drawn together in steady concentration. Bent under the hood of a Ford, he looks really fucking good, and Robert takes a moment to just look at him for a second before he approaches.

Aaron glances up at the sound of footsteps on the gravel, then lowers his gaze back to the engine he’s working on. 

“Can I help you?” he asks. 

“Yeah. I was hoping you could take a look at my car.”

“Sort of guessed that, thanks,” Aaron says, straightening, giving a pointed look at the overalls he’s wearing. “What’s up with it?”

“Engine’s conked out.” Robert offers a slight shrug. “I tried taking a look at it myself. I used to be a mechanic, actually.” 

He looks away, then back, mouth pulling into a bemused expression. “Okay. And?”

“I’ve got no clue. It’s been a while. I’m a bit rusty.” 

“Right, well, I can fit you in tomorrow,” he says. 

“You can’t do it today?” Robert presses, and Aaron frowns.

“I’ve got a queue of jobs, mate. I’m busy. The earliest I can take a look is tomorrow morning.” His tone is firm, inching towards irritation. 

“It’s just that I have an important meeting in Hotten,” Robert tries. 

Aaron shrugs. He gestures vaguely towards the road. “Bus stop’s that way.”

He can’t help his little huff of laughter. “Are you always this sullen with your clients?”

“Depends,” he replies, not missing a beat. “You always this much of a prat?”

“Pretty much.” Robert fishes his wallet out of his pocket, tugging a twenty pound note free. He holds it out. “Seriously, I need it looking at today.”

Aaron tips his head back, gaze going skyward for a second, impatience clear on his face. When he looks at Robert again, his jaw is hard, his expression cool. 

“And, _seriously_ , it ain’t happening,” he grits out. “I told ya. I’m busy.” 

There’s a warning in his voice. Naturally, Robert blithely ignores it. He tends to pay no mind to drawn lines; he doesn’t just toe over them, he marches across them and leaves them stomped into dust behind him. Honestly, he’s not really surprised he gets punched as often as he does.

“Maybe I should have a chat with your boss,” he suggests, just to see how Aaron will react.

He smiles. Grins, actually. It isn’t a friendly one, but it _is_ amused, at Robert’s expense. “Go ahead,” he encourages. “Have you met our Debbie?”

Robert has. He remembers a sullen, stroppy teenager. Remembers the look on her face when she found out his only interest in her was because he wanted to antagonise Andy. He remembers the steely look of disgust in her eyes, masking her hurt and embarrassment. 

She’s grown up now, focused and independent. Different from most Dingles, but just as ready to stick up for her own or defend herself if provoked. He knows why Aaron’s smirking at the idea of Robert trying to complain to Debbie; he reckons she’d probably have his guts. 

“I heard Adam got sent down,” he remarks, changing the subject. “How long did he get?”

Aaron squints slightly. “Why? What’s it to you?”

“Just making conversation, that’s all.”

He looks at Robert for a moment, then turns away, focusing back on the car. “You and me, we’re not mates, yeah? So find someone else to talk to. I’m busy. I’ll take a look at your car tomorrow.”

Robert raises his eyebrows slightly at the casual hostility. Smiling slightly, he says, “Well, I can see the rumours about you were true.”

Instantly, Aaron goes very still, his fingers frozen, hovering over the guts of the engine. Then, slowly, he splays them, palms down, on the edge of the bonnet and lifts his head to look at Robert again. His expression is different now. This isn’t a warning. This is barbed wire and ‘KEEP OUT’. Silence stretches, piano wire taut, between them for an uncomfortable moment before Aaron finally breaks it.

“You what?” he asks lowly. 

Wisely, Robert takes a step back. “I’ll bring my car round in the morning, then, shall I?”

Aaron just looks at him, jaw tight, and Robert nods slightly. 

“Good talk,” he offers, and walks away.

***

Vic’s house is usually quiet and lonely in the evenings.

Since Betty ended her tenancy and moved out, it means that, when Vic works an evening and night shift, Robert is alone in the house. Sometimes he likes it, savouring the rare pocket of peace and solitude that doesn’t come often in a place like Emmerdale; as small and sleepy as the village appears to be, drama is rife. Sometimes he hates it, feeling strangely out of place and lonely, with nothing but the white noise of the TV to keep him company.

Tonight, however, Vic isn’t due in at work. She’d been planning on having a night out with Finn, but after being let down, she’s taking full advantage of having the evening off. A takeaway is spread out on the coffee table, she has a bottle of wine on the go, and there’s a bright pink mask smeared across her face. 

“Alright?” she greets. She nudges the pizza box towards him. “Help yourself.”

Dropping down into the armchair, Robert flips the lid and pulls a face. Olives. He carefully picks them off a slice and then takes a bite out of it, leaning back in his chair.

“Aaron Livesy,” he says.

“What about him?”

“Apparently there’s been plenty of rumours about him?”

She snorts. “Rob, there’s rumours about everyone round here, you know that. At one point, people reckoned Chrissie left ya because she caught you with her dad.”

He pulls a face, horrified. “Seriously?”

She shrugs. “Should’ve been here when people were making up all sorts about me.” She takes a sip of her wine, then slants a glance his way. “Why? What do you want to know?”

“Just…” He pauses. “Just what people have said, I suppose.”

“Robert.”

Her tone is familiar, concerned and nagging all at once, and it sets his teeth on edge. He polishes off his slice of pizza and sighs.

“What?”

“He’s straight,” she reminds him.

“I know. I’m just curious, that’s all.” 

Her expression makes it clear how weird she thinks his interest in Aaron is, but she nods slightly. “Alright. Well, when Chas first dragged him back, there were loads of rumours about him working for some gangsters and being involved in drugs. Sort of true, but not nearly as exciting as people made out. Then Adam reckoned he was gay.”

Robert pauses, looking up at her. “Really?”

“He got the wrong end of the stick. No surprises there.” She rolls her eyes. “No one believed it, though, obviously. I mean, it’s Aaron. And he was with Holly at the time. Besides, me and him…well, you know.” 

Robert tries not to pull a face. The thought of his sister being with anyone is weird enough, especially someone as stoic as Aaron Livesy. 

“Then there was the stuff about him being bigoted, but I never believed that. Aaron’s one of the good ones when it comes to that family, I reckon. And the hate crime charge was dropped, so.”

He nods slightly. “Anything else?”

She pauses, eyeing him for a moment. “Has someone told you about what he tried to do in the garage or something?” 

Robert frowns. “The fire?”

She shakes her head. “No. Well, that, too. Plenty of rumours flying about after he did a runner. But years ago, well before the fire.” She hesitates, looking a little uncertain before she continues, quietly, “He tried to top himself.”

“Seriously?”

“Yeah. Shut the garage doors, sat in a car with the exhaust running, and tried to kill himself. Adam barely dragged him out in time. He nearly died.” 

Robert chews that over for a few moments, a little surprised. He thinks about his conversation with Aaron earlier, tries to work out if Aaron, underneath his surly expression, had seemed unhappy on a deeper, more ingrained level. He hadn’t seemed happy, exactly, yet he hadn’t seemed that _un_ happy, but then, Robert supposes he might just be good at hiding it. He himself knows all about keeping secrets, after all. 

“Not exactly chatty, is he?” he remarks, and Vic smiles slightly.

“He used to be a right prick,” she says. “Likeable with it. At least, I thought so, anyway, and even I had my moments where I wanted to smack him one. But he was constantly getting into trouble or gobbing off at someone. But then…I dunno. I guess he grew up a bit, settled down. He’s quieter. Nicer, I think. Still a proper wanker when he wants to be, though.”

Robert nods slightly. Vic leans forward, refilling her glass. Her dark eyes focus on his face, searching his expression, and he knows she’s puzzled by his interest in Aaron. If he’s honest, he’s a little perplexed by it, too. Aaron is straight and they don’t know each other, not really. But he _is_ curious, more so than he can help. He just wants to know him. 

“Finn has a crush on him,” she says after a moment. “He’s been talking my ear off for days.”

“I doubt Finn would have a shot even if Aaron _was_ into blokes,” Robert replies dryly, and she scowls, offended on her friend’s behalf.

“Oi! I reckon he would. He’s dead nice _and_ good looking.” 

“I saw him trip over his own shoelaces yesterday. Twice.”

She sniffs slightly. “I think it’s endearing.”

“I think you’re biased.”

She chucks half a pizza crust at him in response and he laughs, catching it between his teeth. Pulling a face as he crunches down into the crust, she curls her legs underneath her on the sofa and hugs a pillow to her chest, gaze returning to the telly.

It’s nice. Robert missed this while he was gone. He missed Vic, missed quiet evenings watching telly with his little sister. She’s grown up now and matured well beyond her years, but, knowing what she went through while he was gone, he isn’t surprised. She takes after their mum more and more. Unfortunately, she’s also taken on some of Diane’s less than positive traits, but he doesn’t mind them so much coming from Vic, because he knows her nagging and nosiness comes from a place of genuine care. 

They’re both older, both so different now they’re no longer kids, but this is still easy and comfortable. He’s grateful.

***

He takes the Audi round to the garage at nine the next morning.

The doors are already open. Aaron’s leaning against the desk, one ankle crossed casually behind the other, wearing a black T-shirt underneath his overalls today. There’s a steaming mug in his hand and, as Robert approaches, he laughs at something Debbie says. 

Dressed in her own overalls, with her long hair pinned up in braids, she’s already got a streak of oil smudged on the delicate curve of her jaw. Pushing away from where she’d been leaning over the hood of a car, she tucks her hands into her pockets, looking at Robert.

“Can I help you?”

“Yeah,” he replies. “Aaron said he could take a look at my car this morning.”

Aaron slurps from his tea, then shakes his head. “Sorry, mate. Still got a load of jobs queued up, you’ll be waiting a while. Debbie might be able to -.”

“Nope,” she cuts him off. “I’ve got a call-out, remember? Right out in the sticks.” 

“Swap?” he offers. 

“Faulty brakes and a new set of tires? You’re alright, ta.” She gulps down the rest of her tea and snatches a set of keys off the desk. “Right. You’re in charge. I want that Kia done by the time I get back, yeah?”

Aaron gives a sarcastic salute. “Good luck.” 

She gives his arm a fond little tap as she passes him. “Thanks for the cuppa.” 

She barely spares Robert a glance as she leaves, heading to the truck. Aaron drains the rest of his own drink, sets the mug down, and meets Robert’s gaze.

“Like I said,” he offers. “I’m busy. Come back in a couple of hours, yeah? Or leave your car here and I’ll give you a ring when it’s done.”

Robert shrugs. “I’ll wait.”

His brow furrows. “What? Here?”

“Problem?”

“Dunno if you noticed, but we don’t exactly have a waiting area,” Aaron says slowly. “I’m working. Not entertaining.”

“I don’t mind hanging around.”

He raises his eyebrows. “Oh, really? Well, that’s nice, but I _do_ mind.” Scowling, he grabs a torque wrench, approaching the car Debbie had been working on. “Why would you want to, anyway?”

“I’ve got nothing on,” he replies. “And nothing better to do.”

Aaron leans over the engine, gaze tracking over the insides of the car, sharp and analytical. Robert watches, sees the spark there, the quick astuteness, the brightness of intelligence and steady confidence as he inspects the engine. Then his gaze snaps up to Robert’s, a slight smirk curling on his mouth.

“If you skulking about has anything to do with our Debbie,” he says. “You’ve got no chance, mate.”

Robert blinks slightly, then snorts. “She’s my brother’s ex and the mother of his kids,” he points out. “And not really my type.”

“Cain, then?” Aaron grins, turning back to the engine. “You’ve _definitely_ got no chance. Or if it’s Dan, well, I reckon you need your head looking at.”

He feels his own mouth pull into a slow smile. Tucking his hands casually into the pockets of his jeans, he leans his shoulder against the car, giving Aaron a lazy once over. 

“Maybe it’s you,” he points out. 

Aaron stops. He glances up, frowning slightly. The sharp gleam in his eyes is gone; they give nothing away, like he’s suddenly built a brick wall in front of him. The shutters have come down. The barbed wire is up. Nothing and no one is seeing past them.

“Definitely no chance, then,” he says bluntly. “I’m straight.” 

“Worth a shot,” Robert replies easily. “Mind if I still hang around?”

His frown deepens. “Why?” 

“I’d like for us to be mates.”

His mouth twitches into a slight, bemused smile, eyebrows still drawn together, like he’s completely taken off guard and perplexed by Robert’s suggestion.

“Why would I want to be mates with you?” he asks, and Robert huffs a quiet laugh.

“Blimey. Don’t pull any punches, will ya? Are you always this blunt?”

“Are you always this persistent?” Aaron counters.

“Sometimes.” Robert offers a smile. “Do you drink coffee?”

His eyes narrow. “Sometimes,” he echoes cautiously.

“Christ. You don’t give anything away, do you?” 

“Robert,” Aaron says, turning to face him properly. “I don’t get what you want from me. I’m not interested in blokes, alright? If you’re looking for a mate…try going about it like a normal person. This isn’t primary school. I’m busy, yeah? So do one.”

Shrugging, Robert takes a step backwards. “Suit yourself.”

He doesn’t feel rejected. More than anything, he just feels even more curious, his attention snagged by Aaron’s stand-offish, sullen nature. It makes him want to dig deeper; it makes him want to get to know Aaron properly. He’s seen him relax and smile around his family and around Adam, but the circle of people he allows past those brick walls is small. Robert doesn’t know why he wants to become one of those people, he just does.

Maybe it’s his arrogance. Maybe it’s because he’s bored and this is new; this is interesting. Maybe it’s because he’s always liked the thrill of a game, of a chase, and befriending Aaron presents a fresh, different challenge than what he’s used to. 

He isn’t sure. All he knows is that something about Aaron Livesy has sunk its hooks firmly into Robert.

Aaron ducks back under the hood, getting to work. Robert watches him for a moment, gaze on the strength in his forearms and hands, admiring the confident ease of his movements. There’s something riveting about it, the almost delicate way his fingers treat the part underneath his hands, the sturdiness and the way his muscles flex as he twists the wrench. 

He retreats to the café. Brenda’s behind the counter, leaning against it, completely attentive to Pearl as she gossips. Robert hovers, waiting, until Brenda reluctantly tears herself away from her conversation to serve him.

“Americano and a tea to go, thanks,” he says.

Pearl shuffles slightly to one side to continue nattering as Brenda busies herself with the drinks. Robert waits, hands tucked into his pockets, listening to the hiss and whistle of the gleaming coffee machine. He watches steam spill from it, tuning the conversation out, until, finally, Brenda sets two cups on the counter. He wordlessly hands her a note to cover the charge and snags the cups, heading out.

Aaron’s bent under the hood of the Kia when Robert returns to the garage. He glances up at the sound of Robert’s footsteps, watching as he places the to-go cup of tea down on the bench. He frowns, bemused, looking Robert up and down before he turns back to the car. 

But he doesn’t toss the drink away.

***

Debbie’s the only one in the garage when Robert picks up the Audi a few hours later. She’s in the middle of replacing the ignition coil and spark plug in a Ford Fiesta, but she straightens when she sees him and grabs a rag off the bench. Wiping grease and oil off her hands, she moves to face him.

“Aaron about?” he asks.

“He’s on a call out,” she replies. “But he had a look at your car.”

“And?”

She tilts her head ever so slightly, gaze fixed on him. “He said there’s nothing wrong with it.”

Her tone is blunt, coolness threading through it. She looks at him with a kind of sharp observation that unnerves him, her suspicion evident in her posture as she tosses the rag back onto the bench and tucks her hands into the pockets of her overalls.

“Right,” Robert replies. “He sure about that?”

Her chin lifts by the slightest degree. “Yeah,” she says. “He knows what he’s doing. And so do I, actually. I checked it over to make sure.”

“Well, the engine conked out yesterday -.”

“Your car is fine,” she cuts him off, tone hardening slightly. Stepping closer, she tracks her gaze over his face, searching for something. “What are you playing at, Robert?”

“Excuse me?”

Scoffing, she shakes her head. “Come off it, Robert. Everyone round here knows what you’re like. _I_ know what you’re like. Playing games, twisting people up and using them, pissing people off, it’s what you do. So what game are you playing with Aaron?”

“I’m not,” he says evenly. “I just needed my car looked at.”

“Yeah, okay,” she replies, doubt thick in her voice. “Look, whatever it is you want, forget it. Leave him alone, yeah? He’s been through enough without you getting on his nerves.”

“Right. Lovely. Cheers for that.” Robert raises his eyebrows. “What do I owe, then?” 

Debbie stares him down for a moment longer, then steps away, grabbing an invoice from the desk. She hands it to him and he throws her a suspicious look of his own at the exorbitant fee for just a check-up, but he fishes his wallet out of his jeans all the same, tugging several notes out. He hands them over and she scribbles out a receipt, shoving it at him. She tries to return the extra tenner and he shakes his head.

“Nah, consider it a tip,” he goads. “For excellent customer service.”

She smiles. It isn’t a friendly smile. “Bye, then.”

He offers a wink and makes his way to his car, climbing in. Debbie watches him as he reverses off the forecourt and he gives a little wave before driving off. 

He hasn’t missed the way the Dingles close ranks around each other, especially the Dingle women. Mama bears, all of them, protecting their family like vulnerable cubs. It had been comical, back when Andy had been knocking about with Debbie and her family, naturally, showed him their teeth and claws in response, but it’s a lot less funny when he’s the one receiving a warning. 

Parking outside Vic’s, he locks up and makes his way to the Woolpack. He almost collides with his sister as he pushes through the doors, but she catches herself before the plates she’s carrying spill, offering him a harried frown. 

Stepping aside so she can place the plates down in front of a couple of customers, Robert glances around the pub. It’s surprisingly busy, considering it’s a weekday. Despite the weather cooling off outside, the place is stuffy, heated by all the bodies packed into the room. Robert supposes it’s the dinner rush, most of the locals fleeing work or their homes to grab a spot of food at the pub. He manages to find a space at the bar. Diane, Chas and Alicia are serving, but it’s Diane who approaches him, offering a smile.

“Hello, pet,” she greets. “Pint?”

He nods. “Cheers.”

He tosses his keys onto the bar so he can shrug out of his blazer, folding it and setting it down. It’s hot enough in the pub that, even in the thin button down he’s wearing, he still feels a touch of sweat prickle at the back of his neck. 

Diane hands him his pint and he slides a note across the bar, waving her off when she tries to give him the change. She smiles, giving his hand a fond little pat, before she moves further down the bar to greet another punter.

Since returning to Emmerdale, Robert’s learned that Diane is best in short doses, with none of the rest of the family around. He cares about her and he’ll always be grateful for her support, especially after Jack’s death. She didn’t have to take them on and she didn’t have to be so kind to them after; even now, all these years later, she still looks out for them, still considers them her stepchildren. He admires that, and he appreciates the fact that she’s never tried to be a mum to them, never tried to replace Sarah. 

But she’s kinder when Andy isn’t about. When it’s just the two of them, she tends to be more understanding, gentler without the weight and pressure of the rotten history between him and Andy bearing down on her. She’s better when she isn’t in a position of having to side with either of them. Even then, Robert is careful to limit their conversations. Inevitably, she’ll bring up his past, or Chrissie, or what he’s getting up to now, and she does at least try not to stick her nose in, but she can never quite conceal her disappointment or her concern when it comes to him. It grates on him, so he makes sure to keep their interactions light and brief. He loves her dearly, but, sometimes, he finds it hard to like her.

Digging his phone out of his pocket, he leans against the bar and opens up his emails. He lets the chatter filling the pub fade into a background buzz, not letting it distract him as he answers a few enquiries, pulls a face at a few rejection emails, and follows up a few applications. 

He’s not exactly in a dire situation just yet, though crashing at his younger sister’s house is, admittedly, pretty bloody humbling. He has a nice chunk of savings and he’ll have the divorce settlement in a few months, unless Lawrence gets his way. The investments he’d taken on, the ones not tied up in Lawrence’s business, are still bringing him in some money. But working for Lawrence had been his main income. Now he’s been firmly kicked out from anything to do with the Whites’ business, he needs to figure something out before he’s forced to dip into his savings. 

After a while, he glances up to order another drink, and pauses when he sees Aaron stood further down the bar. He’s leaning against the corner of it, shoulder pressed against the wall, slouched over an empty pint glass. 

“Alright?” Robert says, and Aaron’s gaze flicks up from his phone. 

He nods. “Yeah. You?”

“Good, yeah. Thanks for looking at my car.”

“Debbie tell you there’s nowt wrong with it?” Aaron asks.

“Yeah. Weird, that.” Robert shrugs. “Must have been a fluke.”

“Must have been,” he agrees, tapping away at his mobile. 

“Reckon I owe you a pint, though,” Robert adds. “For having a look at it.”

“I’ve already got one sorted, ta,” he replies, looking up with a nod as Chas approaches, setting a fresh pint down in front of her son. “Besides, you paid, didn’t ya? That’s usually what you do when someone does their job.”

Robert bites back a smile. He isn’t offended by the cool, indifferent note in Aaron’s voice or the sullen frown on his face. He doesn’t take it personally. After all, he’s grasped that Aaron is like this with basically anyone and everyone who isn’t his close family or Adam. He’s stoic and dismissive with people he knows and lives in the same village with and downright hostile with genuine strangers who dare to approach him for one reason or another. Oddly, Robert finds it intriguing and, somehow, incredibly charming. Not to mention his relief that he’s managed to land himself in the stoic category rather than the hostile.

“Well,” he says. “I wanted to ask for a favour, anyway.”

Aaron sighs. He looks up, eyebrows raised slightly. “What?”

“You know cars, don’t you?”

“I’m a mechanic,” he replies slowly. “So, yeah, I reckon I know a bit. Why?”

“I mean, you’re interested in all sorts of cars, right? I saw those magazines at the garage. How about Austin Healeys?”

Aaron shrugs. “What about them?”

“I had one. An absolute beauty. It was a gift from my wife, but, uh…”

“But you cheated on her and she dumped you,” he finishes bluntly. 

“In a nutshell,” Robert agrees dryly. “Yeah. I don’t suppose you know of any for sale?”

Aaron looks at him for a long moment, gaze unfathomable. Robert doesn’t know what it is he’s searching for and normally he’d find that a little unsettling, but he doesn’t mind. Whatever Aaron sees, he just shrugs again and lifts his pint, draining a quarter of it in one drink.

“Might do,” he says, wiping foam off his lip with the back of his hand. “There’s a bloke who gets his Austin Healey serviced at our garage. He’s talked before about maybe selling it. I’ll have a word with him.”

His phone buzzes and he looks back at it. His face does something complicated, raw and open for a split second before he frowns and types something, frustration sharp in his movements.

“Cheers,” Robert offers. “I reckon I definitely owe you a pint, then.”

Alicia looks between them. She lifts a clean glass in question. “Another, then?” She asks Aaron, but he shakes his head.

“No, ta. I’m off.” He sinks the rest of his pint, checks his phone once last time, and then pockets it, pushing away from the bar.

Alicia smirks. “You pulled?” She guesses.

He spreads his hands slightly, eyes gleaming. “A gentleman never tells.”

She laughs. “Lucky lady,” she remarks. “Try not to knock anyone up, eh?”

He rolls his eyes. “I’m not an idiot. See ya later, yeah?”

He turns and walks away. Robert watches him go, his gaze fixed on his shoulders, and he doesn’t miss Aaron’s slight pause when he reaches the doors, doesn’t miss the fleeting, curious glance he throws Robert’s way. It ignites something hot in his belly, stokes at the questioning interest he feels for the other man.

Aaron’s gone a second later.

***

He’s woken up at six the next morning.

For how small and rural Emmerdale is, for all of it’s illusion of peace and quiet, sometimes he finds it harder to sleep here than when he lived in the city. Maybe it’s because of that silence, the blanket of calm that settles over the village at night, that makes any disturbances all the more irritating. 

Victoria’s box room isn’t much bigger than a cupboard. Most of his things are still packed, his suitcase and weekend bag stacked haphazardly at the bottom of the bed. The bed itself is a single, old and creaky, tucked up against the wall underneath the window. The radiator is on the opposite side of the room, so the cool air that seeps through the old, thin window that sags slightly in its cracked frame shakes the curtains and spills over him, no matter how much he tries to take shelter under the duvet.

He can hear an engine catching, the crackle of tyres on gravel as someone pulls out of their drive to head to work. The rattle of glass bottles clinking together fills the air; the milkman doing his rounds. A louder rumble signals the arrival of the morning delivery for the shop. The squeak of shitty bicycle brakes tells him that the gobby little paperboy has just shot past and slapped today’s newspaper carelessly onto the front path. 

Sighing, Robert sits up, rubbing a hand over his face. He’s knackered and his head aches a little from the several pints he’d knocked back last night with Jimmy King. Climbing out of bed, he stretches, then tugs open the curtains. 

Dawn is starting to fracture open the inky darkness of the sky, rosy fingers cradling the clouds. It’s cool out, promising a mild but crisp day. The village is starting to wake up properly, shaking off the stagnant sleepiness of the night, a few people leaving their homes to go to work or take the dog for a walk. 

Robert watches it all for a few minutes, letting the tedious to-and-fro of the road outside pull him out of his drowsiness. He’s just about to turn and go downstairs to make a coffee when, belatedly, something pretty bloody important catches his attention.

His fucking car is gone.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> content warnings for: discussion of infidelity (in Robert and Chrissie's relationship); minor explicit content; mention of nudity; UST.

For a second, Robert stares blearily at the space just out the front of the house where he’d parked the Audi yesterday. Then, cursing under his breath, he snatches up the jeans and blazer he’d discarded carelessly on the floor last night, fumbling through the pockets.

No keys. 

He has a vague recollection of tossing them onto the bar at the pub, and then he’d been distracted by talking to Aaron. By the time Jimmy showed up, he’d completely forgotten about his keys, hadn’t even noticed if they were still on the bar or not. He can’t remember picking them up when he left, either.

He thinks hard, tries to remember if the Audi had been there when he stumbled back to Vic’s, but he hadn’t really been paying attention, too tipsy and focused on sleep to concentrate on anything other than wrestling his spare key into the stubborn lock on the front door. He supposes he’s bloody lucky that he keeps his house key separate from the Audi’s set. 

Rubbing a hand over his face, he glances back out of the window, scowling at the empty road in irritation. He’s too knackered for this, but at least he can bypass the hassle of reporting it and trying to get the coppers to actually do something about finding his car and the thief. He doesn’t bother with the manufacturer’s tracker; he’s learned from experience how easily they can be disabled and how much of a pain in the arse it is to use it. Instead, he snatches up his phone and opens the app for the second tracker he’d installed shortly after he bought the Audi.

Sure enough, the thief is an idiot; the tracker is still working. He gets dressed quickly and jogs downstairs, almost crashing into Vic in the hallway.

“Oi!” she says, skittering back out of his way. “What’s got you in such a rush?”

“Car,” he replies. 

She raises her eyebrows and opens her mouth to ask, but he just squeezes her shoulder gently on his way out of the front door. He pauses outside to hold his phone up, examining the map on the screen. Surprisingly, the Audi is not only still within range, but it looks like it’s still in the actual village. The thief isn’t just an idiot, but a reckless one with it, and likely someone Robert knows or has at least rubbed shoulders with once or twice. There aren’t many known petty criminals in Emmerdale, after all, despite its reputation.

He has to walk, checking the app every few minutes to make sure the car hasn’t been moved. It’s not too cold out, but there’s a lingering headache throbbing behind his eyes, not aided at all by the splintering late September sunshine. He follows the back roads, twisting and winding all the way up through rolling fields until he reaches Butler’s Farm. 

The red pin on the map does little to tell him _exactly_ where his car is, but with the phone held up, he’s able to follow in the right direction, trekking all the way up sloping farmland until he reaches an old, worn down looking barn. _Bingo_. As he approaches, he can hear voices inside, more than one, echoing in the large space, but he doesn’t hesitate; his tired and pissed off, and entirely unafraid of the thieving pricks he’s about to confront.

He shoves the door open and there it is: his Audi, parked near the opposite wall, with two blokes stood next to it.

“Never rely on the manufacturer’s tracker,” he suggests, letting the door rebound shut behind him.

It’s only when he lowers his phone again that he realises he recognises both of them. He isn’t hugely surprised to see Ross, given the idiot’s record, but he is a little caught off guard to see Aaron. The two of them fucking hate each other, as evidenced by the lingering bruises on their faces from some scrap they’ve had, so it’s baffling to see that Aaron’s involved in Ross’s dodgy scheme. 

The thieving itself…well. He’s a Dingle and Robert’s caught up on all the gossip about Aaron. He’s not surprised on that front, not in the slightest. Admittedly, he’s not massively angry, either, or disappointed. 

He’s intrigued. 

Aaron has his hands shoved into the pockets of a black hoodie. He glances at Ross, then turns back to Robert, shrugging slightly with his mouth.

“Just found it parked here, mate,” he says. “Nothing to do with us.”

The thing is, if Robert didn’t know better, he might actually believe him. He’s a decent liar, even for a Dingle. He wants to smile, but he holds it back. He has the upper hand here; he refuses to give up any ground.

“Cain’s handywork, then?” Robert glances at the car, then adds, “Wonder if Moira knows. I’ll check.”

He starts to turn away, his shoes scuffing on the floor. Ross steps forward, shoulders tight, that frenetic instability of his barely controlled, but he’s holding back for now, letting Aaron take the lead in trying to talk their way out of this. Aaron just tips his head back slightly, annoyed resignation flashing across his face.

“There’s no point,” he says quickly, pausing for a split second before he continues, “Upsetting her, is there? I’m sure we can work something out.”

Ross crowds closer behind Aaron, hovering just over his shoulder like a leashed attack dog just waiting to be let loose. It’s almost comical in comparison to the almost belligerently calm expression on Aaron’s face. Robert eyes Ross and scoffs.

“I don’t negotiate with idiots.”

“Oh, really?” Aaron replies without missing a beat. “That’s alright, then. Negotiate with me.”

Ross seems to entirely miss the insult Aaron’s just thrown his way, calm and confident as anything. The ball is firmly in Robert’s court, yet he still feels like Aaron’s stepping toe-to-toe with him, like he’s clawing back some semblance of having the upper hand despite having been caught with a stolen car. It makes Robert want to push back, just to see what happens.

So, naturally, he does. 

“Really?” he remarks, letting a touch of smugness thread into his voice. “I reckon I’ll do what the hell I like, ‘cause I pretty much own you both now.” 

Aaron glances back at Ross, jaw tightening slightly. With how close they are, Ross has to dip his gaze to meet Aaron’s, something unspoken flashing between them in an instant. Robert doesn’t like it; he doesn’t know if they’re agreeing on something, whether they’re planning violence, so he cuts in.

“Or,” he adds, drawing their attention back to him as he holds up his phone again. “Rather, the police do.”

And just like that, in half a second, Aaron and Ross seem to switch roles entirely. Ross pushes forward, expression clearing from anger into something sheepish and almost friendly, and entirely fake. Aaron backs off a little, his jaw clenched, brows drawn together in an angry scowl. Robert knows he has way more to lose than Ross if the coppers get involved; he’s on a suspended sentence, after all. Now he’s the one holding back, violence evident in the tightness of his shoulders and the sharpness of his jaw. Robert has to admit, he’s more intimidated than he was with Ross, but he refuses to show it. He’s in control of the situation here and they all know it.

“Woah, woah, woah, look,” Ross says quickly, glancing briefly at Aaron as he steps closer, lifting one hand slightly. “He hasn’t touched the car. Take it.”

Robert had already suspected that Aaron’s involvement in this is utilising his mechanics skills, stripping the cars Ross steals for whatever dodgy chop-shop Ross is running, or is part of. But now it’s confirmed and Ross, the fucking idiot, doesn’t seem to even realise that he’s just landed Aaron right in it. Aaron clearly does, though, his gaze flashing, dark and furious, to Ross.

When Robert just puts his phone to his ear, gazing at them both, panic flickers across Ross’s face.

“I mean, there must be something we can do to make this disappear,” he tries, stepping even closer. He’s trying to be charming now, friendly and persuasive. “I mean, think about it. We could be useful to you.”

Robert doesn’t think Ross has ever been useful to anyone at any point in his entire life. He’s a greasy weasel, out for what he can get, thieve or blackmail out of people, and more than happy to throw anyone else under the bus in order to save his own skin. 

But Robert _does_ own him now. Normally, he wouldn’t go anywhere near the likes of Ross Barton for a favour, but his skills and willingness to do anything could come in handy. Aaron, too. It never hurts to have something to hold over someone, especially when that someone has the kind of record and skillset that Aaron and Ross do.

Still. He’s not willing to give in just yet. Smirking slightly, the phone still held to his ear, he asks, “How?” 

“You need something – or _someone_ – taking care of,” Ross says. He glances back at Aaron, who looks away, expression darkening further. Turning back to Robert, he finishes, “You come to us.”

Robert lowers his phone. He doesn’t let them see the screen, doesn’t let them see that he hadn’t even dialled. He’d happily have shopped Ross to the coppers, but he had no intention of getting Aaron locked up. He tucks it into his pocket and looks between them.

Aaron’s jaw is clenched hard enough to grind down granite. His hands are shoved into the pockets of his hoodie, but his shoulders are squared, his anger palpable. When Ross looks at him, he just holds his gaze, eyes glinting dangerously in the dim light. Ross pays it no attention, completely unaffected. 

Robert holds out his hand. “Keys.”

Ross slips them out of his pocket. “We got a deal?”

“I’ll be in touch.”

Ross drops the keys into Robert’s waiting palm. The second he does, Aaron shakes his head slightly and pushes past them both, shouldering Ross out of the way. He ignores Ross’s sharp “oi, hold up!” and Robert’s glance, marching straight out of the barn.

***

Robert knows exactly what he needs done and Ross is the perfect bloke for it. Aaron, too, because he’s sharp, quick-thinking and able to lie if necessary. Ross has the experience and willingness, and Aaron has the craftiness and astuteness to balance Ross out. 

He doesn’t go to them straight away. He wants them to stew, wants to hold the power he has over Ross just to make him squirm, and he needs to plan. He needs to ensure that everything goes off without a hitch and, most importantly, that it can’t be tied back to him.

It’s three days before he finds Ross outside the Woolpack. It’s lunchtime and he’s sat at one of the benches, a pint in front of him. When Robert gestures with his chin for Ross to follow him, he scowls but drains the rest of his beer, climbing inelegantly to his feet. 

“So?” he asks, falling into step next to Robert.

“You busy tomorrow morning?”

“Might be.”

Robert snorts. “Let me rephrase,” he says. “You’re busy tomorrow morning, ‘cause you’ll be doing a job for me. Got it?”

Ross slants him a look. “And then we’ll be even?”

He shrugs. “If you do it right.”

“Always do, mate,” he replies, which is such a tremendous amount of utter bullshit that Robert almost laughs out loud.

Instead, he tucks his hands into the pockets of his jacket as they approach the garage. Aaron’s alone; Robert had watched Debbie leave on a call out only ten minutes ago, and Dan and Cain clearly aren’t working today. He’s hunched over a Skoda, brows drawn together in concentration as he works, twisting a wrench in tight, controlled movements.

He glances up when he hears their footsteps. Robert doesn’t miss the way his gaze flicks skywards for a second, irritation clear on his face as he straightens, tossing the wrench onto the tool bench.

“Sugden’s got a job for us,” Ross says. “Tomorrow morning.”

Aaron just shrugs, grabbing a rag to wipe engine oil off his hands. “That’s nice.”

Robert raises an eyebrow. “You don’t want to know what it is?”

“Nah.” He slings the rag over one shoulder and crosses his arms. “’Cause I ain’t getting involved.”

He frowns. “We had a deal.”

“No, you and Ross had a deal,” Aaron points out calmly. “I didn’t agree to anything.”

“I’ll just ring the police then, shall I? Report my -.”

“Your what?” he interrupts blithely. “Your car? The one that’s parked outside your place right now? You’ve got your car. You can’t prove nothing, mate.”

He has a point. It’s frustrating, made even more annoying by the fact that Aaron _knows_ he has him, his smile cool and smug as he holds Robert’s gaze. It’s a blatant challenge, one he’s sure of winning, and it exhilarates Robert as equally as it pisses him off. 

“You willing to risk it?” he counters calmly. “You’re on a suspended sentence. Even a hint of trouble and the coppers will come down on you like a tonne of bricks, won’t they?”

Aaron’s mouth tightens. He looks away, just for a second. Before he can reply, Ross crowds forward, his expression sharp.

“Oi,” he warns lowly. “I’m not doing this on my own. We’re both in this. So wind your neck in and do as you’re told, yeah?”

Aaron tips his chin up, meeting and holding Ross’s gaze. He smiles slightly. It isn’t a nice smile. 

“Or what?” he dares.

Ross reaches out to shove at Aaron’s shoulders, but he plants his feet and holds his ground. Robert glances back at the road, checking that none of the village curtain twitchers are lurking about, and exhales in exasperation as he pushes between them.

“Can you two idiots stop scrapping like little kids for two minutes?” he demands, looking between them. “We had a deal. Either of you break it and I’m making the phonecall. They’ll believe the story I’ll give them. Trust me.”

He can be just as slippery as Ross, but he’s smarter with it, more calculated. Less likely to get caught out. It’s what got him to where he was, before he decided to chuck it all away because he couldn’t keep up the charade anymore. 

Aaron looks at him. For a second, it looks like he might just punch Robert and be done with it, but he reels his anger back in. He steps back, gaze wary.

“What’s the job?” he bites out.

“I want you two to break into Home Farm.”

“You what?” Aaron asks incredulously. “No way. I don’t do robberies.”

“What?” Robert remarks. “D’you not like free stuff if it’s not on four wheels?”

He shakes his head. “You haven’t got a clue about me, mate. Why do you want us robbing your wife’s place anyway?”

“We’re separated -.”

“Oh, well, that’s alright then,” he interrupts, sarcy. “No harm done.”

“I don’t want you robbing the place,” Robert says firmly, irritation zipping through him at Aaron’s attitude. “I want you to steal a couple of things and plant evidence to frame the housekeeper.”

Ross raises his eyebrows, nodding slightly as he contemplates it. He’s clearly game for whatever Robert wants done, not interested in questioning his reasons for it. Aaron, however, scrunches his face slightly in confusion.

“Why?”

“Does it matter?” Robert replies. “You owe me. This is the job.” 

“I’m not gonna get someone fired,” Aaron snaps. “That’s bullshit. What the hell is wrong with you?”

“Yeah, alright, Robin Hood,” Ross says. “It’s no big deal. They’ll find another job.”

Aaron shakes his head. He looks Robert up and down, something like cool disgust glinting in his eyes, and Robert clenches his teeth. 

“She doesn’t deserve that job,” he grits out.

Aaron just crosses his arms, expression distant. “Forget it. Just tell us what needs doing and get lost.”

“No,” he insists. “No, ‘cause I’m not having _you_ , a thief, judging me. Not when you don’t have a clue about anything. She _should_ be fired. She’s been shagging her employer and she’s a shit housecleaner. She’d have been fired ages ago if she wasn’t in Chrissie’s knickers.”

“Didn’t you cheat on Chrissie?” Ross points out idly.

Aaron raises his eyebrows. “So, this is, what? Revenge? ‘Cause she shagged the wife you were cheating on?”

“No. This is necessary. Chrissie’s trying to screw me out of what I’m owed in the divorce. I need proof that she committed adultery too, otherwise she’s pinning it all on me. Caitlin won’t give me the evidence I need, not while she’s on Chrissie’s side.”

“But if Chrissie accuses her of being a thief and sacks her, she’ll want her own revenge,” Aaron says. “You’re a slippery bastard, you know that?”

“You hold a lot of judgement for a bloke on a suspended sentence,” Robert replies coolly. “One who is a car thief, at that.”

Aaron just smiles, sharp and shark-like. “Tell us what we need to know and we’ll get it done. And then you leave me well alone, you got that?”

He tries not to let the hostility faze him. Maybe he is a jerk for setting Caitlin up, but he doesn’t care. She’ll find another job. He’ll help her, if needs be. Not to appease her, or to satisfy any kind of moral quandary on his part, but to stop Aaron looking at him like he’s pond scum. He doesn’t know where Aaron gets off judging him, not with his record, not with what he would’ve done to the Audi if Robert hadn’t tracked it down, but it grates on Robert. 

It’s not necessarily Aaron’s approval he wants. But, for whatever reason, he does want him to understand. 

***

As he’d anticipated, Home Farm is empty by ten o’clock the next morning; both Chrissie and Lawrence are out for meetings, and Lachlan’s away on some field trip. None of the staff should be scheduled to work today, except for Caitlin; she’ll show up after midday to clean the house.

Robert doesn’t go up to oversee Ross and Aaron, even though he’s tempted to, if only to make sure that Ross doesn’t pull of any of his reckless bullshit. He doesn’t like not being firmly in control of the situation. But he needs to make sure that nothing can be traced back to him, so he makes himself comfortable in the pub, sitting on one of the stools at the bar. With several other villagers about and Diane and Chas working, he’s got a solid alibi.

He sinks a pint while he reads a newspaper, not really bothered about its contents – the news in Emmerdale is as mercurial as the village itself, fluctuating between something as boring as an article about a stolen sheep to a double page spread on a local serial murderer getting sent down; today, the contents of the paper is about as dull as Doug – but scanning it meticulously all the same, simply to pass the time.

The sharp clink of a nail tapping against the side of his empty glass snags his attention. He glances at Chas’s gleaming, polished neon-purple nails, then up to her face. She raises an eyebrow at him. 

“Another?” she asks bluntly.

“Yeah,” he replies. “Cheers.”

She doesn’t hide the dislike in her gaze as she looks him up and down, then turns away to pull him a fresh pint. She sets the glass down in front of him and holds out her hand, expression sour and expectant. When he just looks at her, she flexes her fingers slightly, impatiently, and he bites back a grin.

“Has anyone ever told you that you have such a warm and friendly skill when it comes to customer service?” he remarks, tugging a note out of his wallet. 

“Plenty,” she replies brightly, snatching the fiver from his fingers. “’Course, those people are actually people I like, rather than…well, you.”

He can see where Aaron gets it from. It must be a Dingle thing, that propensity to snap at anyone who looks at them wrong, to approach others with bared teeth and distrust rather than with warmth. Chas is like Charity, bolshie and loud and aggressive with it, but Aaron’s different. He’s quiet, sullen. Grumpy and cagey rather than feisty. 

“Nice,” Robert says. “Thanks for that.”

She just smiles, placing the five pound note in the till. She plucks out three pound coins with efficient speed, but she doesn’t hand the change to Robert; instead, she pockets them, mouth curling into a distinctively _un_ friendly smile at the outraged look on Robert’s face.

“Thanks for the tip,” she retorts, and turns away to serve the bloke nursing his woes at the end of the bar.

Fucking Dingles. His mum always had a weird soft spot for them, especially Lisa and Debbie. She’d got on with them all, even Chas, despite the huge differences between them. Jack hadn’t really shared his wife’s generous view of the Dingle clan and always made it clear that he didn’t trust them as far as he could throw them. 

Robert knows better than to trust any of them, too. But he also knew better than to trust his dad, so he supposes that says it all, really.

Another hour drags by and he starts to feel a little antsy, glancing at his watch every few minutes. Caitlin is due in at work soon. If Aaron and Ross get caught in the act, the whole thing will be blown, and he doesn’t doubt for a second that they’d blab about his involvement in it as well. Chrissie will have even more ammunition against him. He’s not overly concerned about Aaron – he seems to know what he’s doing, after all, and a bloke who could pull off the things he’s supposedly done in the past isn’t an idiot – but Ross is unpredictable and a cocky moron, and Robert’s starting to regret his decision to involve him in this.

Finally, though, the side door clatters open and Aaron steps inside. He doesn’t spare Robert a glance as he approaches the bar, leaning against the polished wood surface right at the corner. Chas throws him a smile and starts to pull him a pint. 

He’s frowning, but that’s not exactly anything unusual when it comes to Aaron. Still, there’s a tension in his shoulders that has Robert worried. He drains the rest of his drink and glances over again, and Aaron catches his gaze, just for the briefest of seconds.

He nods. So minute that Robert almost misses it, but it’s enough to reassure him, and then Aaron looks away, paying him no attention as he lets Chas engage him in a conversation about work. 

Robert watches for a minute, unable to help it; ostensibly, their chat is light, Chas asking questions about a complex job Cain asked Aaron to work on, and Aaron answering them bluntly with little interest, but carrying the conversation on all the same. Chas’s worry is evident in her eyes, in the slight tightness of her smile as she listens to Aaron explain something she doesn’t have a clue about, and Robert remembers what Vic said about Aaron’s history, about his suicide attempt. It’s been years, but it’s clear Chas is still careful and watchful when it comes to her son’s mental wellbeing, her focus entirely on him as he talks to her.

He remembers what that was like, back when he had a mum, one who gave him the kick in the arse he needed and expressed her disappointment when he fucked up, but who was always there for him, always supported him, always _loved_ him. He didn’t have that from Jack, not on the same level that Andy did, but he always had it from Sarah. 

He misses it.

Rubbing at his chest, as if to ease the ache deep inside it at the thought of his mum, he gets to his feet, gathers his newspaper, and quietly leaves.

***

It takes less than twenty-four hours for Robert’s plan to pay off.

He’s sat in the Woolpack with Jimmy and Nicola King when Caitlin storms in. Her blonde hair is dishevelled, half falling out of its bun, and her cheeks are flushed, shining with dried tears. She pauses just inside the door, glancing around with wild anger in her dark eyes, and Chas pauses in the middle of pulling a pint, blinking at her.

Her uncertainty is mirrored in the expressions of most of the locals currently propping up the bar. Caitlin lives in Skipdale; she cleans for a few houses in the surrounding villages and in Hotten, but Home Farm is the only place in Emmerdale that she’s worked for. No one really knows her beyond seeing her in the pub a couple of times getting lunch or a drink after work, so no one particularly wants to approach her and get entangled in whatever has her in a devastated rage.

Robert doesn’t get up and he doesn’t call out to her. Instead, he looks away, back at the dossier on the table between him and the Kings. 

It’s glossy, professional and meticulously put together, which means it’s definitely Nicola’s work. Unlike Jimmy’s open, warm friendliness, Nicola is stoic, expression giving nothing away. She isn’t enthused at the prospect of Robert buying into Home James Haulage, both because of the fact that she’d once, years ago, shagged him, and because she clearly doesn’t trust him. Or particularly like him, for that matter. But she’s sharp as a tack. She knows that the business is starting to sink. They need an investor before profits plummet even more and Robert is more than happy to buy half of the company. Jimmy’s a decent bloke to get into business with, despite his taste in spouses, and with a few changes and a bit more money poured into it, the haulage company could bring in a good profit. It’s another source of income that Robert could definitely do with.

Caitlin’s gaze finds Robert. She pushes carelessly past Pearl and Edna on their way out, ignoring their disapproving frowns, and marches over, her trainers scuffing on the floor. She stops next to his table. 

“They fired me,” she announces.

Robert looks her up and down, then shrugs. He takes a drink from his beer, sets the glass down again, and leans back in his chair.

“If you’re expecting me to help you out,” he says idly. “You’ve got no chance. I know you’ve been shagging my wife for months.”

He sees Nicola in the corner of his eye, catches the way she lifts her head, eyes gleaming at the sudden snippet of juicy gossip. He bites back a smile and keeps his expression cool and uninterested as Caitlin scrapes the empty chair to his right back, sinking down into it.

“No,” she says tightly. “Actually, _I’m_ going to help _you_ out.”

Robert raises an eyebrow. “How?”

Her jaw tightens. “Check your email.”

He slides his phone out of the pocket of his jeans, swiping his thumb over the screen to unlock it. Jimmy clears his throat, preparing to attempt a discreet escape, giving Robert and Caitlin some privacy. When he starts to stand, however, Nicola grabs his arm and yanks him back down firmly, her gaze glued to the drama. She not-so-subtly lifts her chin to try and peer at Robert’s phone as he opens his email, scrolling through to the account he uses for business.

There’s a new email from Caitlin. The time stamp shows that she sent it just ten minutes ago. He opens it, but there’s no text in the body of the message itself; instead, there’s a series of attached photos. He glances across at her and she gazes back, eyes still a little watery with unshed tears but steely, her jaw clenched in sheer determination. She stays silent as he opens the attachments, thumbing through them.

The first one is fairly innocuous, a tame selfie of her and Chrissie embracing in the drawing room at Home Farm. Robert’s in the bloody background, for fuck’s sake, oblivious as he hunches over his laptop in the kitchen, visible through the open doors. Pretty bold of Chrissie, he has to admit, and he’d thought _he’d_ been ballsy with his one night stands right under her nose. But he supposes it is just a hug, easily explained away as platonic and harmless.

The rest of the photos though, not so much. There’s screenshots of text message threads that range from suggestive to downright explicit. There’s a couple of selfies from Chrissie, her topless, her naked in bed, her wearing -.

“That’s the chemise I got her for her birthday,” he remarks. “Ouch.”

Caitlin tips her chin up slightly. “She wore it the day after her birthday, while you were out for a meeting. We spent three hours in bed together.” 

She says it unapologetically and unabashed; she isn’t ashamed or sorry, and it’s clear she doesn’t care about his feelings. Rather, she tells him out of a thirst for revenge against Chrissie, and he has to admit, he sort of admires her for it. Chrissie really does have a type, even if she doesn’t see it.

The final photo is of both of them, lying naked in the bed Chrissie had shared with Robert. Their hair is a mess, their cheeks flushed, and Chrissie has her head pillowed on Caitlin’s stomach. It’s surprisingly soft, despite the nudity; gentle in comparison to the raunchiness of the other pictures. For some reason, that photo actually hurts a little, even though the more graphic ones hadn’t. 

Robert saves them all to his phone and sends the email to his archive, then locks his phone, tucking it into the inside pocket of his blazer.

“Right, then,” he says. “Cheers for that.”

Caitlin pauses. The first hint of doubt trickles into her expression. “You won’t…” She hesitates. “You won’t spread them, will you?”

“No,” he says instantly, shaking his head. “Only the solicitor, if I really have to.”

It isn’t just the fact that he had actually loved Chrissie once, or the fact that he does still admire her, does still care for her, deep down, in a grudging, platonic sort of way as opposed to how he used to feel for her. Even if he genuinely despised her, he wouldn’t share the photos around; he knows he can be a cold bastard, but even he has his limits, and revenge porn is low. He’ll use the photos to get what he wants, whether that’s directly through Chrissie or by using them as evidence of her infidelity with their divorce lawyers, but that’s all. 

She nods, getting to her feet, and Nicola leans forward urgently.

“Wait,” she says. “Why did she fire you?”

Her tone is gentle, kind; Robert would buy it if she was talking to one of her friends, or even those in the village she grudgingly likes or respects even if she isn’t necessarily close to them. But with Caitlin, he suspects her question is more out of nosiness than concern.

“She accused me of being a thief,” Caitlin seethes. “Some cash went missing from the office yesterday, a couple of grand, and some of Chrissie’s jewellery was taken, too. An antique ring and some necklaces. I told them it could have been any of the staff with keys, but because I was the only one working yesterday, they reckon I did it. Everything I’ve done for them, for _her_ , and they fucking – they sack me.” 

Anger snaps through Robert, but he doesn’t say anything. Nicola offers a vague kind of commiserating noise in her throat, but Caitlin clearly sees through it. Shaking her head, she wipes furiously at her face, scrubbing away the dried tears on her cheeks. She’s oblivious – or uncaring – of the gazes on her as she storms out again, leaving an awkward second of silence behind her.

It’s Eric who breaks it. “Well,” he remarks. “Staff like that, you shouldn’t be surprised when they steal. Rough sort, housecleaners.”

“Oi,” Chas warns. “Watch it. I’ve done some cleaning in my time.”

He eyes her. “I know.”

Robert almost feels guilty. Caitlin’s been fired and, going by the conversations muttered around him, it’s obvious Eric isn’t the only one who believes she did actually steal from Chrissie. But she still has her business and he knows she’ll find more work again soon. He did what had to be done. 

He’s a little surprised, actually, at just how well his plan worked. He’s good at reading people, at digging out their quirks with just a glance at them, and he’d known Caitlin would stick by Chrissie, loyal to a fault.

Unless Chrissie wasn’t loyal to _her_.

He’d been certain that, if betrayed and given provocation, Caitlin could be swayed to siding with Robert in order to get revenge against Chrissie. He hadn’t expected her to just straight up turn to him immediately and give him what he needs for this bloody divorce settlement, but he’d clearly underestimated her capacity for vindictiveness. It’s impressive, actually. 

Two grand isn’t an amount Lawrence or Chrissie will miss, not really. After all, they’re careless enough to keep cash like that lying around in the office, despite Robert’s past arguments about the recklessness of it. It’s no surprise that Aaron and Ross had easily found and taken it. They’d even done a bloody good job of setting Caitlin up for the robbery, too, given that Chrissie didn’t hesitate in blaming her. They’d almost done a flawless job.

Except for the fucking jewellery.

The bastards had gone and stolen some of Chrissie’s jewellery. If it was just the necklaces, Robert wouldn’t give a shit, but the ring is different. It belonged to Chrissie’s mother.   
He almost wishes that he did hate her, or that he could at least be completely neutral towards her. But he _does_ still care for her and he knows how much that ring means to her. 

The guilt he feels is sharp and ugly, and he clenches his jaw. He’d got what he wanted, sure, but now he has to clean up this mess and try and get the ring back to Chrissie without drawing suspicion.

Aaron’s sat at the bar. He hadn’t bothered to pay attention to Caitlin or try and listen in on her conversation with Robert; he’s obviously washed his hands of it all now he’s played his part and worked off the favour he owed. His shoulders are tight, though, his expression hard as granite and giving nothing away. His gaze catches Robert’s already on him and he doesn’t look away, his jaw clenching at whatever he sees on Robert’s face.

Robert looks away. Jimmy’s already back on topic, eagerly going over some of the haulage company’s more lucrative contracts, and Robert clears his throat.

“Excuse me,” he says. “Just need the loo.”

He gets to his feet, heading for the swinging doors. Aaron looks over at him again, long enough for Robert to give a pointed nod with his head; he doesn’t linger to see if Aaron gets the message, instead pushing through to the men’s bathroom. 

It is, thankfully, empty. Robert leans against the tiled wall opposite the sink, tucking his hands into the pockets of his jeans as he waits. The door creaks open a minute later and Aaron appears. He looks Robert up and down, annoyance clear on his face. He’s poised as if expecting a fight, his gaze cool. 

“What?” he demands.

“Do I really need to spell it out for you?” Robert counters, incredulous. “You and Ross went too far.”

He shrugs, glancing away, then back. “Worked, didn’t it?”

“The plan wasn’t to help yourself to Chrissie’s jewellery.”

Aaron’s expression turns belligerent. “That was Ross. Nowt to do with me.”

“Yeah?” Robert asks lowly. “Well, tell Ross I want her mum’s ring back.”

He huffs a quiet, humourless laugh. “Tell him yourself. I’m done.”

And then he goes to leave, dismissive in a way that’s almost cocky. Robert’s anger burns even hotter. He moves to block Aaron’s path, pressing a hand to his chest briefly to stop him.

“No,” he argues. “You’re done when I say.”

Aaron’s gaze flicks down to Robert’s hand, disbelief flashing across his expression, and then back up to Robert’s face as he crowds in slightly, a challenge gleaming in his pale eyes. Most people would probably back down from a look like that, appropriately cowed by the warning it contains, but Robert isn’t that type of person. Instead, he rises to the dare, throwing out one of his own.

“Or,” he threatens. “D’you want the police to find out about your little chop-shop?”

Aaron shrugs slightly with his mouth, giving a minute shake of his head. “You know I don’t,” he replies casually, then leans in even closer, face tipping towards Robert’s as he adds, “Just like you don’t want them lot to know who set up yesterday.”

He has Robert and they both know it. He can’t grass them to the coppers about his car since he has no evidence, and if he tries to go to the police about the illegal chop-shop, both Aaron and Ross would be more than happy to tell Chrissie who was behind the robbery. He has the proof of her infidelity, but if she knows he set up the whole thing in order to get Caitlin on side, she’ll have plenty to use against him. He’s got nothing to hold over Aaron now and the slight curl of his mouth shows he’s just as aware of it as Robert is, but infinitely more happy about it. 

Robert clenches his jaw. “This isn’t what I wanted,” he snaps. “That ring was her mother’s. Taking it was never part of the plan.”

Yet again, Aaron just shrugs, completely unsympathetic. “Should have thought about that before you let an idiot like Ross loose, then, shouldn’t ya?” 

He smirks and starts to shoulder past Robert, but he isn’t done with this conversation, no way near. Not when his whole plan could crumble because of Ross fucking Barton. He reaches out, grabbing Aaron’s elbow, and he reacts instantly, his own hand flashing out, fingers curling tight around Robert’s wrist. His grip doesn’t hurt, but it’s as much of a warning as the look on Aaron’s face as he twists back round to face him, stepping in close, his expression harder than granite.

Robert inhales sharply, expecting a punch, or for Aaron to shout or threaten him. But he doesn’t. Instead, he goes suddenly silent, staring at Robert’s face, the look in his eyes shifting to something a little unnerving in how unfathomable it is.

And then, slowly, his gaze dips down to Robert’s mouth.

_Now_ Robert recognises it, the gleam in Aaron’s eyes, the torn expression on his face. Fear and exhilaration and sheer, unavoidable _want_. He knows how it feels, that swoop in the belly, the sudden pounding of the heart; he felt it too, the first time he kissed a bloke, terrified of his own sexuality and what might happen because of it, yet helpless to stop himself from giving in to the desire. 

He feels an echo of it now, like a ghost haunting him from his teenage years, but it’s soon overwhelmed by his own craving. Because he wants Aaron. He has done since the moment he first laid eyes on him. Even when he knew better than to pursue him, even as he’d tried to get to know him as friends instead, he’d still wanted him, still felt so intrigued by him that he couldn’t keep away. It’s there now, coiling in his belly, pulsing down his spine and buzzing insistently under his skin.

He wants to kiss Aaron. Wants to strip off his clothes, wants to taste every inch of his flesh, wants to find out if he can get him to let go completely for once, to shed his gruff stoniness and give in to Robert’s touch and kiss and pleasure.

He just _wants_. 

He wonders what would happen if he kissed Aaron. It’s clear he wants it from the way his gaze flicks to Robert’s mouth, from the sharpness in the way he swallows. It’s obvious in the uncertainty creasing his expression, the sudden wary excitement lit up in his eyes. He wonders if Aaron would kiss him back.

Aaron doesn’t let him find out.

He pulls back sharply, almost aggressively, a startled snap of his body that skids him back until there’s a good chunk of space between them. For a second he just stares at Robert, eyes wide, before the shutters come down, expression turning colder and harder than stone. His gaze gives nothing away as he backs off even more.

“You want the ring,” he says flatly. “Talk to Ross. I told you. I’m done.”

He turns before Robert can reply, leaving quickly; the door swings shut behind him with a clatter. 

Robert’s left alone, breathless and surprised and confused, lingering heat tight in his stomach. His pulse races with adrenaline triggered, not by anger, but by temptation.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> content warnings for: mild (canon compliant) violence; threats; internalised homophobia; angst; explicit sexual content.

Chrissie’s ring clatters onto the table in front of Robert.

He glances at it, catching the gleam of the cluster of diamonds under the pub’s warm lighting, then looks up at Aaron. His expression is stoic, giving nothing away as he gazes back.

“This is yours, innit?” he says.

“Well,” Robert replies. “Not mine personally, but.” He sets his pint down and smirks slightly. “Does your mate Ross know you’ve come over all conscientious?”

Aaron scoffs slightly, then leans forward, raising his eyebrows. “Listen, if you don’t want it...”

“No, no. No, it’s all good.” He slips the ring off the table, tucking it discreetly into the pocket of his blazer. “I’ll make sure it gets back to its rightful owner. Thanks very much.”

For a long second, Aaron just looks at him, his expression unfathomable. The weight of his gaze is startling in its intensity; just the brief moment of having Aaron’s attention focused solely on him has Robert thinking of the bathroom and the heat that had crackled between them, and the insistent pull in his belly as he thought about kissing Aaron. Even with the space between them now, even surrounded by the other patrons in the pub, Robert suddenly feels like he can’t drag in a proper breath.

Finally, Aaron huffs a quiet laugh, sharp and humourless, looking Robert up and down before he turns away. He doesn’t glance back as he makes his way to the doors. 

Even then, Robert watches him go, and it isn’t until Aaron’s out of sight that he finally manages to let go of the breath he’d been holding.

It’s a little disorientating. He’s never felt like this; not this intensely, anyway. The closest he’d felt anything like this is with Katie, that adrenaline-fuelled, desperate, passionate want sizzling in his belly, urgency boiling under his skin. It had, inevitably, fizzled out pretty quickly. He’d had teases of it with Chrissie, too, but it had cooled off well before they even got married. 

This, though. This is different. This feels deeper, more insistent, better in so many ways yet undeniably a mistake. He knows how stupid it would be to chase after a bloke so far in the closet he might as well be in fucking Narnia, a bloke who can be volatile and aggressive when provoked at that. 

But he’s never been one for playing it safe or refusing to go after what he wants. He’s reckless, he’s arrogant, he likes the chase and the thrill and, even more, he likes to _win_ ; he’s everything plenty of people in this village have accused him of being, and he doesn’t really care. He tends to get what he wants, no matter what it takes.

And right now, he wants Aaron.

***

Returning the ring is an absolute pain in the arse, mostly because he has to do it himself. 

There’s no way he would ever trust Ross fucking Barton to do a job for him again and he reckons Aaron would have some pretty choice words for him if he tried asking him for another favour, and he’s unwilling to risk getting anyone else involved in case they end up shopping him in.

It means waiting for one of the rare mornings when Home Farm is, mostly, empty; there are a couple of staff on the premises, but it’s easy enough to avoid them. It’s bypassing the new security cameras that Lawrence has had installed that’s the toughest problem, but Robert manages. He’s wearing gloves, but he wipes the ring clean just to be safe, and leaves it on the carpet under the bed in Chrissie’s bedroom.

It’s not ideal, but it’s the best option to return it without drawing suspicion to himself. Chrissie will find it, or whichever housekeeper they hire next will. It’s out of his hands now. Dog catches him on the landing, tail wagging, and he lingers for a minute to fuss him behind the ears before slipping out of the house again, using the cameras’ blind spots.

Once it’s done, though, it’s done. He doesn’t have to worry about the ring. Even better, he doesn’t have to deal with Ross again; that alone has him in a cheerful mood as he walks through the village. He’s planning to head to the Woolpack to see if Vic’s free for a late lunch, but, naturally, that idea goes straight out of his head the second he sees Aaron further off down the road, heading in the same direction. 

He’s got his hands tucked deep into the pockets of his hoodie to protect them from the brittle October chill and he slouches as he walks, a sullen look etched on his face. On anyone else, it’d make them look like a miserable fuck, but the sharpness looks good on Aaron. 

Robert moves to intercept him. “I sorted the ring,” he says. “Reckon Chrissie should find it eventually. She’ll be made up.”

Aaron doesn’t slow down and he barely spares Robert a glance. He gives a slight, disinterested nod. Robert isn’t put off; he just falls into step slightly behind him.

“It’ll save us no end of grief,” he adds. 

“I’m very happy for ya,” Aaron replies, dry and dismissive, not even bothering to look at him now.

Robert reaches out, catching his shoulder to turn him. “So it looks like you’ve really earned your scooby snacks.”

Aaron stops short, body half turned towards him, one eyebrow raising as he gives an incredulous double-take between Robert’s hand and his face. Robert can practically see the barbed wire and warning signs come up: _No Touching_. 

Digging into his pocket, Robert fishes out a crisp twenty pound note. Aaron watches, a disbelieving frown on his face, as he holds it out towards him.

“Here,” he says. “Get a pint on me.”

Aaron looks down at the money. Something like a smile, but sharper and distinctly unfriendly, flashes across his mouth before he snaps forward, hands fisting in Robert’s blazer. He doesn’t even see it coming, doesn’t see that tightly leashed control tip over into aggression; Aaron’s volatile and Robert’s managed to push a button he didn’t even know about, and now he’s in Robert’s face, shoving him roughly into the stone wall of the building behind them. 

“Here you are, you can _stick_ your money,” he seethes. “Who do ya think you are?”

Robert spreads his hands slightly, frowning at him. “Alright, mate,” he replies blithely. “I’m only trying to say thanks.” 

Aaron’s eyebrows are drawn together, his jaw sharp as he grits his teeth in anger. He looks dangerous like this, wild and unpredictable. It’s fucking gorgeous. He grips the expensive fabric of Robert’s blazer tight enough that his knuckles go white. He’s strong; he could do real damage if he had the mind to, but he clearly doesn’t, despite his anger. He’s pissed off, but he’s still got a handle on it.

“Yeah, well, I don’t want your thanks and I’m not ya _mate_ ,” he snaps. “So don’t be calling on me to do any more of your dirty work, ‘cause me and you are quits, right.”

He gives a little shove before he lets go, turning sharply to walk away. Robert huffs out a breath as he pushes away from the wall.

“Fine,” he says, and Aaron whips back round to face him. “We’ll just leave it then.”

“Yeah, and do yourself a favour,” Aaron warns, the words simmering between his teeth, a cold glint in his pale eyes. He points a finger towards Robert’s face. “Stay out of my way, ‘cause if I catch you lording it about near me again I’m gonna wipe that smug smile right off your face, you understand me?”

He doesn’t wait to hear Robert’s response, a dark frown on his face as he turns and walks off. All Robert can manage anyway is a slight, incredulous laugh. He shakes his head as he watches Aaron go, trying to make sense of what the hell just happened. It isn’t until Aaron’s gone that he feels like he can breathe properly again, exhaling sharply; he can feel a smile tug at his mouth. 

For all that he has killer self-preservation instincts and for all that those instincts have bit him in the arse in the past, he knows he’s also the type of bloke to be reckless when something catches his interest, and he’s undeniably, inexplicably exhilarated from the encounter, heat coiling in his belly as he thinks about Aaron’s hands fisting in his blazer. 

He thinks about the instant snap of adrenaline he’d felt at Aaron’s body being pressed so close to his, thinks about how all it took was stumbling across some hidden button for Aaron to let go and lash out. He thinks about what it would be like if he pressed a very _different_ set of buttons, thinks about what it would be like if Aaron grabbed him with very different intentions. Robert wants that. He wants Aaron.

He just _wants_.

***

There are two things that Robert knows for certain Aaron likes: beer and tea, since he’s witnessed him gulping down both.

What he _doesn’t_ know is how Aaron takes his tea. It would be easy to assume he’s like most mechanics – no sugar, dash of milk, stronger than a bodybuilder’s nutsack – but Aaron’s proved to be pretty unpredictable so far, so Robert errs on the side of caution and orders a black tea to go. The garage probably has milk and sugar that Aaron can add if he wants. 

Brenda makes idle chit-chat with him as she makes his Americano. He listens patiently, nodding and giving interested ‘hmm’s in the right places, though if she was to quiz him, he’d have no bloody clue what snippet of village gossip she’s been nattering on about. Still, she seems to appreciate the small talk, giving him a bright smile as she sets the two takeaway cups on the counter.

“Keep the change,” he says, sliding a note towards her.

“Oh, thank you,” she replies. “I knew it was a good idea to ignore what people say about you.”

He pauses. “And what _have_ people been saying about me?”

She realises what she’s just said and her eyes widen. Like a rabbit in the headlights, she freezes for a second, and Robert bites back a laugh. He can just imagine what some of the villagers have told her about him and his past, but he doesn’t really care, so he lets her out of her misery.

“Thanks for the drinks,” he offers, and relief softens her expression.

Quickly, she catches the gaze of Laurel, who’s stood right behind Robert. “Hello, love!” she greets. “What can I get ya?”

He doesn’t bother to supress his smile as he collects both cups and makes his way out of the café. It’s raining a little outside; the sky is bleak and grey, little droplets of rain cold as ice as they spit down onto the pavement and slicken the road. The soles of Robert’s shoes slide slightly on the smooth, damp ground as he crosses the street, making his way up to the garage.

It’s late afternoon, creeping closer to evening; normally, on a Sunday, the garage would be shut by now, but Robert had spotted Aaron working late, the lights on inside the small building. One of the doors is propped open, letting in fresh air to combat the smell of petrol and grease, and Robert slips inside, closing the door behind him. His shoes scuff against the concrete floor. 

Aaron’s bent over the hood of a car. His overalls are stained with oil, the sleeves rolled up to expose his forearms as he works; it looks like he’s repairing a radiator coolant leak, movements precise and efficient from practise. He glances up at the sound of Robert’s footsteps, eyes narrowing. 

Wordlessly, Robert holds up the cup of tea, but Aaron doesn’t say anything. His expression is unfathomable as he gazes at Robert for a long moment, then turns back to the job he’s in the middle of. 

“You’re making a habit of this,” he remarks. 

“Find a good mechanic, ply them with tea,” Robert replies. “It’s a good life tip.”

“I’ve never worked on your car,” Aaron points out. “Not legally, anyway.”

The casual joke about the stolen Audi is a bit of a surprise and Robert huffs out a laugh, relaxing a little. Aaron isn’t being friendly, exactly, but he isn’t being overtly hostile, either, and that’s definitely a huge improvement on previous interactions. 

“So,” Aaron asks. “What do you want, anyway? I’m busy.”

“To bring you this,” Robert replies, tapping the side of the cup. “And to say sorry for being a jerk the other day, with the money. You got the ring back even though you didn’t have to. I should have been more grateful."

He nods slightly, then shrugs. “So, we done?”

Robert smiles. Aaron’s stand-offish nature really shouldn’t be as attractive as it is. 

“Can we start over?” He asks.

“Why?” Aaron says, blunt.

“Because I’d like for us to get on.” 

Aaron shakes his head and looks away, a smile that’s more bemused than friendly on his face. It’s directed at Robert’s expense rather than as anything nice towards him. He doesn’t say anything.

“So,” Robert presses, offering a charming smile as he holds out his hand. “Mates?”

Aaron glances at his hand, then looks him up and down before he straightens. He doesn’t accept the handshake; just sets aside the funnel he’d been using and grabs a rag. 

“I’ll think about it,” he says.

Robert tries not to be disappointed, but it does sting. He’d hoped for something a little more, at least, but Aaron seems determined to be offhand with him. Pressing his lips together, he sets the cup on the desk, and Aaron looks at it. He frowns, perplexed, even as there’s a puff of amused laughter on his lips. 

Robert turns to go, but he stops before he reaches the door. For a second, he watches the rain outside the window. The sky is getting darker, azure slinking closer to inkiness, and the sound of the rain hitting the windows and ground outside is a soft white noise. Otherwise, the village seems quiet, empty, like it’s just the two of them, isolated in the garage. They’re in their own bubble, carved out away from the rain and the rest of the world, a separate pocket of time and space just for them.

He doesn’t give up easily, so he turns back again and says, “I’m bisexual.”

“I know,” Aaron replies simply, not even looking up as he shuts the hood of the car. 

Robert gazes at him for a moment. “Are you really gonna act like nothing happened in that bathroom?”

He shrugs with his mouth. “Nah, something happened. You ran your mouth off and I told you where to go.”

Robert sets his coffee aside, stepping closer. “You can try to lie to yourself all you like, but you can’t pretend that there was nothing between us. You wanted to kiss me. I saw it.”

“I’m straight,” Aaron says slowly, his expression hardening. “And you’re deluded, mate.”

“Yeah?” Robert challenges, holding his gaze.

“Yeah. Now I suggest you do one, ‘cause you’re really starting to annoy me now.”

He raises an eyebrow. “Likewise.” 

Aaron shakes his head, his face colder than stone. “Get lost, Robert.”

“Okay,” he agrees easily. “But first, I wanna know one thing.”

He closes the gap between them, stepping in close enough to feel the heat radiating off Aaron’s body, to smell the scent of engine oil and hot metal and, beneath it, the warm trace of sweat clinging to his skin. Aaron’s gone completely still, body tensing up as if primed to fight, but he holds his ground, chin lifting slightly. His gaze is lit up, wild and full of warning, yet he sways in slightly, and his lips part, his breath ghosting across Robert’s skin, laced with the faint sharpness of spearmint. 

His gaze dips down like he can’t help it, looking at Robert’s mouth before slowly dragging back up until their eyes lock. 

Robert starts to lean in and Aaron’s head jerks back, the shutters snapping down over his gaze again. He doesn’t back off, though, hesitation creasing his expression as he stares at Robert. Reaching out, Robert places his hands on Aaron’s upper arms, slow and careful, but he holds on a little more firmly when Aaron doesn’t immediately pull away or shove him off.

“It’s okay,” he murmurs. “I’ve been there, you know. I know what it’s like. But running away from it…it doesn’t work.”

Aaron swallows. A smirk lights up his face. It isn’t a friendly expression. 

“Didn’t you come out, what? Six months ago?” he points out. “You’re hardly one to talk, mate.”

He’s deliberately being antagonistic. Robert ignores the spike of defensiveness that rears up automatically at the jibe and instead offers a shrug.

“But I got there,” he replies calmly. “I’m open with who I am now. You can be too.”

It’s the wrong thing to say. Aaron’s eyes narrow, his jaw clenching as he grits his teeth. 

“I’m not _anything_ ,” he bites out. “I don’t want to be that. I don’t want that life.” 

“No?” he challenges softly. “Then why are you still here?”

Aaron doesn’t answer. His gaze flicks across Robert’s face, expression torn. He frowns, a muscle in his jaw twitching as he looks back at Robert’s mouth. Robert flexes his fingers on Aaron’s biceps, leans in until their noses almost touch, exhilaration and heat curling tight and insistent in his belly as anticipation coils down his spine. But he doesn’t close the gap between their mouths; instead, he waits.

Less than a second later, Aaron caves. He surges forward, mouth slanting hard and hot across Robert’s; the kiss is frantic and messy, too sharp to be completely pleasant, but it still ignites something inside of Robert, still has his hands grazing up to cup at Aaron’s neck instead, thumbs pressing on the hinge of his jaw to tip his head back for better access. He kisses him deeper, slows the bite of it into something sweeter and better, and Aaron pulls away with a hot puff of breath, tilting his face so Robert’s mouth drags across his cheek instead of his lips. 

Frustration stings through Robert. Sighing, he draws back, but he doesn’t let go completely; his hands linger on Aaron’s throat, yet Aaron doesn’t immediately retreat. 

“So,” he says. “How long have you known you’re bi, then?”

Aaron scowls. “I’m not.”

“Pan? Gay?” He raises his eyebrows. “Not straight?”

“I _am_ straight,” he insists, practically snarling the words out.

Robert smiles. “Right, well, I’d be more inclined to believe you if it wasn’t for the fact that I can still taste your toothpaste,” he replies casually. “Spearmint. Interesting choice.”

Aaron’s lip curls slightly. “Fuck you,” he snaps, and Robert smirks.

“If you like.”

“I’m not gay,” he grits out. “I’m not bisexual or – or whatever. I’m _straight_.” But he crowds in close again, right into Robert’s space. “ _You_ kissed _me_ , mate. I ain’t into that. So keep your mouth shut and do one, yeah?”

The blatant lie sparks fresh anger and determination in Robert’s ribcage. He leans in, holding Aaron’s gaze.

“Or what?” he challenges.

And there it is. The slight dip of Aaron’s gaze, the flicker of hesitation, the rush of want and fear and torment that Robert remembers feeling when he first kissed a bloke, and he sways in even closer, like he can’t help himself. 

He backs off again almost instantly and starts to turn, but Robert reaches out, grabbing his shoulder to twist him back to face him. He cups Aaron’s face, ducks in, and kisses him firmly. 

There’s no hesitation as Aaron’s hands come up to fist in Robert’s jacket, pulling him even closer. He kisses him back fiercely, almost desperately, like he can’t get enough, and Robert’s hard in seconds, almost dizzy with it as he tastes the mint on Aaron’s tongue and feels the scrape of his beard under his palms. Their bodies slant against each other and Aaron’s just as hard as Robert, undeniable as they grind slightly against each other, and Robert has to pull back with a breathless gasp.

“That bloke you hit,” he asks. “Was he your boyfriend, then?”

“Shut up,” Aaron warns, hands lowering to wrestle with Robert’s belt.

They stumble until Robert’s back hits the side of the car. He’s found the button now, knows how to push until Aaron gives in to what he really wants underneath all of that denial, and it’s reckless and probably unfair to both Aaron and himself to keep winding Aaron up, but he doesn’t care. He wants Aaron too much to let this moment, this opportunity, slip away; if he does, he knows Aaron will back right off, and any chance of getting him to open up again even the slightest bit will be fucking dust in the wind.

“What about that Leah girl?” he challenges. “Were you really into her, or were you actually knocking about with that rugby star brother of hers?”

Aaron grits his teeth. “I _said_ ,” he bites out, yanking down Robert’s zipper with quick, urgent fingers. “Shut the _fuck_ up.” 

Naturally, Robert ignores the warning. 

“Vic? Holly?” he baits. “Did you really like them, or were you just using them to hide, to keep running away from who you really are? Did you have to think of blokes to stay hard so they wouldn’t suspect anything? Come on. Tell me.”

Aaron’s cheeks are flushed, his eyes lit up with wildfire. “Your fucking mouth,” he seethes.

Whatever reply is on the tip of Robert’s tongue disappears the second Aaron drops to his knees and swallows him down. All thoughts fly out of his head, everything lost to the sensation of Aaron’s mouth and hand on him. He’s glad he’s leaning against the car; his knees are weak and he feels unbalanced. All he can do is cradle the back of Aaron’s skull with one hand, the other scrabbling uselessly at the cold metal of the car door, hips twitching before he can help it.

Aaron’s ruthless, to the point that it borders on being too much, but he clearly knows exactly what he’s doing. He works Robert like he fucking craves it, fast and desperate, intent on getting him off rather than taking the time for any kind of build-up or pleasurable foreplay. But it’s fucking _incredible_ too, his hand stroking in tandem with the suction of his mouth, and Robert’s head hits the roof of the car with a muted _thud_. He comes so hard he’s certain he sees stars.

Blinking, he takes a moment to drift back down. Aaron had swallowed, but he’d come hard enough that there’s some stickiness on his belly and the base of his cock. Aaron doesn’t bother to clean him up, just wipes the back of his hand over his mouth and climbs to his feet, expression sharp, cagey.

Still breathless, Robert pants, “You’ve done that before.”

“Fuck off,” Aaron mutters, looking away.

Fisting a hand in the front of his overalls, Robert pulls him into a rough, sloppy kiss. He can taste himself on Aaron’s tongue, salty-bitter, and he shudders slightly, nerves still lit up, his pulse still racing. 

It’s clearly not Aaron’s first time. He’d been too confident, too careful with his teeth, too sure and practised in exactly how he touched, licked and sucked. Robert isn’t completely surprised. He’s been there, too, shagging blokes and telling himself that it didn’t mean anything, that it didn’t change the fact that he was straight; that so long as he still fucked girls, too, then obviously he wasn’t gay, or bi, or anything else. 

Aaron’s right: it wasn’t that long ago that he came out. But it feels like a lifetime ago for how much more comfortable he feels in who he is, and it feels strange now to see Aaron going through it, to see the same twisted, non-sensical thread of denial he’s clinging on to by the skin of his fucking teeth. 

“You fucked a man before?” he asks, curious. “Or been fucked?”

Aaron practically snarls. “Shut _up_.”

Frowning, Robert reaches out, sighing when Aaron snaps back a step before he can touch him. He shakes his head.

“Aaron,” he says. “It’s okay. It’s just us here. You were on your knees just seconds ago, for fuck’s sake. You can admit that you’re gay.”

“I’m not fucking gay!” he shouts, his voice reverberating in the small space. “When will you get it through your thick skull that I’m _straight_?”

He shrugs, belligerent. “Most straight blokes I know don’t go around swallowing other guys’ loads,” he points out idly.

“ _Fuck you_.”

Robert catches and holds his gaze. “Anytime,” he says, slow and precise.

He isn’t surprised that the tension finally tips against his favour, but he _is_ disappointed as he watches Aaron flee. The door slams shut behind him and his footsteps fade into the distance, and Robert’s left alone in the garage, feeling sticky, satisfied, and bitterly empty.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> content warnings for: Lachlan; discussion of past infidelity (between Chrissie and Robert); internalised homophobia; mention of violence; explicit sexual content; angst.

Lachlan looks about as happy to see Robert as Robert is to see him, which roughly equates to not at fucking all.

His sullen face twists into something even more sour than his usual gloomy expression, his eyes sharp as he stares at Robert. He doesn’t move from his position blocking the way into the house, either, and it would be comical, the way he seems to think Robert would ever be, in any way, shape, or form, intimidated by a scrawny brat of a teenager. That is, if it wasn’t for the fact that Lachlan is a creepy little shit and Robert has little patience for dealing with him now that he’s no longer obligated to.

“Lachlan,” he greets, neutral. “Terrorised any stray cats lately?”

He scowls. “Fuck off. I like animals.”

“Yeah. Let’s hope not too much, though, eh?” 

“What are you doing here?” 

“Well, I’d tell you,” Robert replies cheerfully. “Except you’re an annoying nutcase and I don’t want to.”

Lachlan’s lip curls slightly, but Chrissie appears in the doorway behind him, interrupting any response he might’ve made. 

“Lucky,” she says. “I thought you were going to the cinema.”

He eyes Robert for a second longer, then shrugs and grabs his jacket from the row of hooks next to the door. Tugging his beanie lower on his head, he shoves past Robert and starts to slouch off down the drive.

“You know,” Robert remarks. “I’m really glad I’m not his stepdad anymore.”

Chrissie’s smile is cool. “Looks like the two of you actually agree on one thing, then.” 

She steps aside to let him into the house, closing the door behind him. Lawrence doesn’t seem to be about, which is a relief; Robert could really do without his snide remarks and insistence on getting involved. He follows Chrissie into the kitchen.

“I’d offer you a coffee,” she says. “But I don’t want to.”

“Thanks,” he replies dryly.

She leans against the counter, crossing her arms over her chest. She’s dressed for a meeting in a smart grey skirt suit and heels, her hair straight and sleek. Her expression isn’t overtly hostile as she gazes at him, but there’s a steel in her gaze that’s familiar. 

“So,” she prompts. “You wanted to discuss the divorce. If you’re planning on contesting the adultery accusation -.”

“I’m not,” he cuts her off calmly. 

“Good. Then what’s to discuss?”

“The settlement agreement you want me to sign,” he says. “It’s bullshit and you know it. I’m not signing.”

“It’s what you deserve.”

“No, it’s what _Lawrence_ thinks I deserve,” he points out, and she doesn’t deny it. “Twenty grand? Are you serious?”

“We were barely married for a year and you cheated on me numerous times,” she counters evenly. “Twenty thousand is generous.”

“I put my all into the business and brought in more lucrative contracts than even Lawrence. I put up with your psycho of a son -.”

“Don’t,” she warns, her tone sharpening. “Don’t bring Lachlan into this.”

“I’m not signing the agreement.”

She sighs, shaking her head slightly. “Robert, do you really want to drag this out for months? You committed adultery. That agreement is the best offer you’re going to get and you know it.”

“Except you cheated too,” he reminds her.

She smiles. “Prove it,” she challenges, and he shrugs.

“Okay.”

His easy response throws her off guard. She’s tackling this like she does a business deal and he admires her for it; he likes the playfulness and the sharpness of bartering with her, because they’re splitting up but he still cares for her, and maybe she hates him but she’s clearly enjoying the back-and-forth too. Somehow, they might even come out of this mess as friends, or at least with the ability to be civil with each other.

Right now, though, he’s willing to be ruthless if he needs to be, just as he knows she’ll be cut-throat in order to get what she wants as well. 

“Caitlin,” he says. “She came to see me the other day. Seemed a bit upset, actually, and really not happy with you. She sent me some interesting photos.”

Chrissie purses her lips, gaze cooling. She doesn’t reply, just watches him, clearly searching to see if he’s bluffing, so he smiles.

“The chemise I got you for your birthday,” he adds. “Classy.” He folds his arms. “So, we can draw this out, and I can show our solicitors the evidence of your adultery. Or we can do this in a more private and civil matter.”

She taps polished fingernails against the counter. “What do you want?”

“I want what I’m owed.”

“You don’t deserve a single _penny_.”

“We can fight it out in the courts if you like,” he replies. “I’m not planning on taking you to the cleaners, Chrissie. I want out of this marriage as much as you do. But I’m not going to take the hit.”

She ponders that for a minute, watching him. There’s something in her gaze, underneath that steel and determination; something like sadness, or regret, and Robert feels an echo of it in his ribcage. 

They weren’t suited to each other, not really, despite being quite similar to each other when it came down to it. Maybe their similarity is _why_ they didn’t work out. He isn’t in love with her anymore and the sooner the divorce is final, the better, but he does still feel a sting of sadness over all of it. He genuinely does hope that they can get on after this, though he reckons Lawrence will have plenty to say about that.

“Fine,” she says finally. “I’ll have my solicitor draw up another agreement.”

He nods. “Alright.” 

A small smile curls on her mouth. “You know, blackmailing me with nudes I sent to my lover? _That’s_ classy.”

“You can call it blackmail if you want. I only intended on using it to prove your infidelity in a divorce court if it came to it.” He shrugs. “I’ll delete them the moment I sign the agreement.”

“You’re a shifty piece of work, you know that?”

“I know.”

Pushing away from the counter, Chrissie tips her chin up, her expression smooth and impenetrable now. “Goodbye, Robert.”

“See you around, Chrissie.”

She doesn’t see him to the door. It closes behind him and he exhales slowly, relieved that the encounter had actually gone better than he’d anticipated. Chrissie is an absolute shark when it comes to business and securing deals, and he’d expected her to be just as ruthless about the settlement, but she’d capitulated quicker than he’d predicted. Clearly, she really is eager to be legally divorced from him.

He can’t say he blames her.

He drives back to the village and parks outside Vic’s house, but he doesn’t head inside; instead, he makes his way down the road to the café. It’s quiet inside, empty apart from Pearl and Edna sat on the couch tucked against the wall, sharing a coffee and some gossip. Robert greets Brenda with a nod, orders an Americano from Bob, and gets situated at a small table for two, setting up his tablet to do some admin.

For a while, he manages to concentrate, getting a fair bit done. He tunes out the to and fro of villagers coming and going from the café, occasionally throwing at an automatic reply to a greeting, but mostly he’s left to himself. His focus is broken, though, when the door opens and his gaze flicks up, immediately landing on Aaron.

He hasn’t seen him in the two days since Aaron blew him and left him, which is pretty impressive considering they live in a tiny village; whenever Robert’s chanced a stroll up to the garage, it’s been Debbie and Cain’s scowling faces or Dan’s blankly cordial one returning his look, and the Woolpack has been distinctly missing Aaron, which, given the fact that Aaron lives there, makes it pretty bloody clear that he’s been avoiding Robert.

If he’d any hopes that his feelings would be any less tangled up thanks to a couple of days distance, they’re dashed the second he looks at Aaron. He’s annoyed and frustrated, with himself for being interested in a bloke determined to cling to the safety of the closet, and at Aaron for giving him the best damn blowjob of his life and then running away. And yet he still wants him; he wants him physically, and he wants to _know_ him, which is fucking stupid and makes no sense, but he does. 

Aaron spares him a brief glance. His expression doesn’t change, set in his usual resting grouch face as he walks right past Robert’s table to approach the counter. It’s the look of someone who is used to this; used to giving in to his own temptation, used to shagging and ditching and pretending like nothing happened, like it doesn’t mean anything about his sexuality. Robert used to be bloody good at it, too, on the rare occasion he’d bump into a one night stand again, used to have the casual, disinterested glance before moving on, both physically and with his life, perfected. 

Robert isn’t stupid enough to get up to approach him. He doubts the reception would be positive even if they were in private. Still, he can’t help but watch as Aaron orders a cuppa to go, slouching over the counter and drumming his fingers on the surface as Brenda makes his drink. She makes idle chit-chat that he doesn’t respond to, but she seems used to Aaron’s particular brand of gruffness and she doesn’t take his silence personally, just offers him a bright smile as she places the cup down on the counter, snapping a lid into place.

“There you go, love.”

“Ta.” He hands her a couple of quid and straightens, picking up his cup.

He doesn’t look Robert’s way as he heads for the door. It opens before he reaches it, the little bell giving a cheerful chime. Andy and Katie step inside, cheeks flushed from the brisk autumn chill, smiles on their faces. Naturally, Katie’s dims the moment she notices Robert sat at one of the tables, but Andy’s attention is snagged by Aaron as the younger man pushes past him to get to the door.

“Aaron,” he says. “Wait up.”

Aaron pauses, turning slightly. He looks at Andy with a casual, bland sort of impatience, taking a sip from his brew.

“Yeah?”

“Just.” Andy stops, then offers a stilted but friendly smile. “Haven’t seen you around since you got back, that’s all.”

He shrugs. “Didn’t realise you were looking for me.”

“No, I weren’t. I just thought I’d say hello.” Andy reaches out, clapping Aaron on the shoulder. “Welcome you back to the village and that. It’s good to see ya.”

Aaron’s gaze drops to look stoically at Andy’s hand on his arm. It’s only when he stops touching him that he looks up again, a coldly baffled expression on his face. 

“Why?” he asks. “You and me, we’re not mates.”

He doesn’t say it with any vitriol or hostility, just point blank and bemused, which somehow makes it even more of a dig. Robert has to admit, it’s pretty enjoyable to watch Aaron’s dismissive animosity aimed at someone else, especially Andy, and he doesn’t even try to hide his grin as he leans back in his chair, watching the exchange. 

Andy blinks twice, rapidly. “Well, I just…what you did for Adam, I reckon it were noble, like. It’s good that you’re finally home. You were missed, mate.”

“Alright,” Aaron says slowly, an amused huff on his lips. He shakes his head. “Look, _mate_. I don’t like ya. Never have done, probably never will, so let’s not do the whole small talk thing, yeah?” He claps Andy hard on the shoulder, a mockery of Andy’s gesture just seconds ago. “But cheers for the welcome back. It’s good to be home.”

His smile is bright and distinctly unfriendly as he steps away. He offers Katie a wink that’s a touch warmer and a little more genuine; she gives him a small smile in response, and then he walks out without looking back, the door rattling shut behind him.

Andy looks floored, a frown on his face. It deepens when he finally turns and spots Robert, catching the unabashed grin on his face.

“What?” he snaps.

“Nothing,” Robert replies, lifting his hands in surrender. “Just think it’s funny how you talk about me alienating everyone, but look at you. You’ve got a proper gift for it.”

“Get lost, Robert.” Andy looks away, glancing at the door before down to meet Katie’s gaze. His jaw is tight. “I don’t get what his problem is.”

She smiles soothingly. “I’m sure he doesn’t hate ya. You two just don’t have a good history, do you? He’ll come round, I’m sure of it.”

It’s interesting, how Katie’s unwavering loyalty and support of her fiancé slips away easily into a peacekeeper role when it comes to her best mate’s abrasive son. If Robert was being unfair, he’d call it false and slippery, but, unfortunately, he knows Katie well enough to know that, unless it’s Robert, she genuinely does want to get on with everybody. It sets his teeth on edge. 

Still. Aaron’s blunt and dismissive shoot-down of Andy’s attempt at friendliness leaves a lingering blossom of appreciation in Robert’s chest.

When it comes to Aaron, the more he learns, the more he finds he likes.

***

Aaron’s date is gorgeous.

She’s tiny, probably barely 5’2, with dyed copper hair and lipstick the same shade of pink as her dress. Robert might not know much about Aaron, but she really doesn’t seem like his type. It isn’t even the whole being a woman thing. It’s the pristine make up, the lacy dress, the high heels. She’s stunning, almost glossy with it; cheap glamour spills down her like liquid gold. She isn’t like Chrissie, who’s sleek wealth had moulded around her like a well-worn cloak, subtle but unmistakeable; she isn’t rich, but she’s clearly used to glitz.

She’s nothing like Vic or Holly and she looks out of place sat opposite Aaron, with his ungroomed stubble, stoic expression, and oil-stained, scruffy clothes. 

Yet she’s leaning forward all the same, toying with a lock of her hair as she talks, hazel eyes bright on Aaron. He’s giving absolutely nothing away, slouched back in his chair, his body language as impenetrable as his expression, but apparently she likes that in a date, because she reaches out, one fingertip drifting idly over the top of Aaron’s hand on the table. His gaze flicks down to it but he doesn’t pull away.

Robert knows what the display is all about. Aaron retreating right back into playing the straight man after what happened in the garage. Maybe it’s a little self-centred, but Robert can’t help but think Aaron chose the pub for the date on purpose, knowing that Vic would be working and it would inevitably get back to Robert. Of course, even better, Robert is actually _here_ , and it’s stupid because he knows exactly what Aaron is doing, yet he can’t help but feel an ugly twist of jealousy anyway.

“Must like her,” Alicia remarks.

He blinks, dragging his gaze away to look at her. “What?”

“Aaron.” She nods in their direction. “He never normally brings his dates round here. Reckon his mum’s nosiness does his head in.”

Chas isn’t about, but Charity is. She doesn’t pay much attention to the date, clearly not really interested. Robert looks back over at Aaron and the woman he’s with. Of course Aaron doesn’t bring his dates back to the pub, or anywhere near the village; Robert’s willing to bet that the people he’s ‘pulled’ in the past have all been blokes. It’s like his own past behaviour being mirrored right in front of him.

“She’s pretty,” Alicia adds. 

“Yeah,” Robert replies, then sits up straighter. He flips open his wallet and hands her his credit card. “Hey, send them over a bottle of your best on me, yeah?”

She takes the card hesitantly. “Why?”

“Inside joke.”

She still looks at him a little weirdly, but he suppose he can’t blame her. He just smiles, though, and she shrugs, putting the sale through. She hands him back his card and prepares the bucket of ice. Placing the bottle of champagne inside, she grabs two flute glasses and rounds the bar, carrying them over to Aaron’s table. Robert watches as his face scrunches up in confusion, then hardens at whatever Alicia says. He looks round, gaze landing on Robert, eyes cold. 

Smirking, Robert offers a lazy little salute. Aaron stares at him and the weight of his gaze almost steals Robert’s breath, it’s so intense; like he’s the only person in the whole pub. His expression isn’t positive, but Robert wants his attention, and now he has it, he wants to _keep_ it.

Aaron’s date looks confused. She taps on his hand, drawing his gaze back to her, and Robert exhales. Whatever Aaron says to appease her confusion seems to work and a minute later, she’s fiddling about on her phone as Aaron gets to his feet, crossing the pub to lean against the bar next to Robert. Alicia quietly takes the champagne back behind the bar; clearly, Aaron had firmly sent it back. She ducks out the back to sort out the bucket of ice.

“Alright?” Charity greets Aaron. “Seems to be going well.”

He shrugs. “Reckon so, yeah,” he agrees. “Another pint and a gin and tonic, ta.”

When Charity turns away to sort the drinks, Aaron tilts his body slightly towards Robert’s, a scowl darkening his expression.

“What d’you think you’re playing at?” he asks lowly.

“Bringing a date back here,” Robert replies evenly. “I heard it’s a rare thing for you. Thought I’d send over something to congratulate you.”

His jaw tightens. “You think you’re funny or something?”

“Nothing funny about it.” He leans closer, holding Aaron’s gaze. “Nothing funny about that poor girl thinking she’s got a shot with ya when she hasn’t got a clue that you’re gay. Nothing funny about you denying who you are.”

“Careful, mate,” Aaron baits. “You’ll be throwing around rainbow confetti in a minute. Just ‘cause you’ve been out for all of six months don’t mean you get to stick your nose in when it comes to my life, yeah?”

“You really ought to watch that casual homophobia, you know.”

“And _you_ really ought to stay out of my business,” Aaron warns. “Before I _make_ ya.”

Charity reappears, placing the drinks on the bar. Robert doesn’t say anything as Aaron pays her and collects his change, then picks up the glasses, turning away. Only then, when Aaron’s back is facing him, does he speak.

“You deserve the best.” 

Aaron stops. Turns slightly, frowning. “You what?”

“You deserve the best,” Robert repeats. He looks him up and down, slow, deliberate, before meeting his gaze again. “The champagne. Cost enough, but you deserve it.”

If he’d hoped to catch Aaron off guard by the flirting, it doesn’t work. Instead, Aaron’s gaze goes stony, his jaw hard enough to grind down granite. He doesn’t reply and Robert doesn’t say anything else as Aaron marches back to his table, setting down the drinks hard enough to make his date blink, startled.

Sighing, Robert leans his elbows on the bar. He doesn’t have a clue what he’s doing, but he knows it isn’t smart. He should just leave Aaron be, let him suffocate in the closet he’s firmly locked himself in. It’s no skin off his nose and it’s not like he can brag about a history of caring too much about others, especially those he barely even knows. But he can’t seem to stay away from Aaron, can’t bring himself to give him a wide berth; he wants him, more deeply than he’s ever wanted anyone before. 

He doesn’t let himself glance over at Aaron for the next half hour, but when he catches movement from the corner of his eye, he can’t resist the temptation to look. Both Aaron and his date are on their feet. She leans in, intention clear, and Aaron isn’t subtle in the way he leans back, making his own lack of interest even more obvious. It’s brutal and Robert almost feels sorry for her. The goodbye after that is awkward and tense, and Robert watches as she leaves, the doors thudding shut behind her.

When he looks back at Aaron, he finds the younger man’s gaze already on him. For a second, he just stares Robert down. 

And then he leaves, ducking out of the side exit, shrugging his hood up as he goes. 

Shaking his head, Robert sinks the rest of his pint and signals Alicia for another. For a while, he watches the steady lap of people coming and going, recognising the regulars that arrive to prop up the bar, easily spotting the diners just stopping for a bite to eat on their way through the village. Jimmy offers him a nod and a wave, but doesn’t invite him over since he’s with Nicola, and Lisa Dingle gives him a friendly smile that’s at odds with the way Zak barely acknowledges him as they pass him on their way to a table.

So much changed while he was away, but sometimes, it feels like _nothing_ has changed, like the people and the buildings and the menial day-to-day are stuck, stagnant, like a forgotten time capsule. It’s both comforting and a little unnerving. 

He’s surprised when Aaron suddenly appears again. He leans his arms casually on the bar, body close enough to Robert’s that he can feel the damp coolness of the outside clinging to Aaron’s skin. He’s chewing gum, expression belligerently calm as he dips in slightly to speak to Robert.

“I chased ‘em up the street,” he says casually, shrugging. “But, well.”

Robert glances at him, confused. “Chased who?”

“The lads who just gave your car a hell of a battering.”

He sits up straighter, alarm zipping through him. “You’re joking.”

“Yeah, I am,” Aaron agrees, cocky to the point of being obnoxious as he adds, “It was me.” He looks at Robert then and pushes away from the bar, clapping him hard on the arm. “I know a good garage if you need one, though.”

He strolls away without glancing back once, completely unconcerned as he heads for the back of the pub, and Robert watches him go, incredulous. It takes a second for Aaron’s words to sink in properly and then he’s on his feet, stool scraping back loudly as he makes for the door. 

His Audi is still parked outside Vic’s. Even in the dim light spilling from a nearby streetlamp, the damage is noticeable. Cracks splinter across the windshield like a spiderweb, there’s a dent in the bonnet, gouges have been scraped out of the paintwork on the sides by a key, both of the bloody wingmirrors are just completely _gone_ , and, when he crouches to check, he finds three out of four of the tyres slashed. Aaron really did give it one hell of a fucking battering.

Robert stares at the damage, taking it all in. Getting it repaired is going to cost an absolute bomb, even without the price gouge he can expect from pretty much any mechanic; it’ll take a good chunk out of his savings and until he gets it sorted, the Audi is completely unusable. 

He thinks about the cool smugness on Aaron’s face and turns sharply away from his car, marching back down the sloping road towards the pub. Rage simmers in his belly, fuelling him as he cuts down the lane that leads to the back of the pub and the private door there. He doesn’t hesitate, just bangs the side of his fist on it.

It opens barely two seconds later. He hadn’t thought about what he’d do if anyone else answered, but luckily it’s Aaron, who doesn’t look surprised as Robert pushes him aside and barges in. He closes the door again and stays put, expression sharp with his own anger as he watches him.

“What you playing at?” Robert demands.

“If you’re looking for your wingmirrors, I chucked ‘em over a wall.” Aaron steps closer, words seething between his teeth. “Your money means _nothing_ to me, mate. You can’t buy me.”

Robert grits his teeth. “I wasn’t trying to _buy_ ya,” he snaps.

“The drinks. The money you tried to give me for screwing over your wife. Fucking _champagne_. I ain’t like that, you get me? You can’t throw money at me to get whatever it is you want from me.”

“That’s not what I’m doing,” he grits out. “It’s not as if I’d need to anyway. Reckon I already got what I wanted from ya -.”

Aaron’s hands clench into fists in the lapels of Robert’s jacket and he shoves forward, slamming Robert against the wall. The move takes him surprise. He supposes it shouldn’t; he’s learned now just how volatile Aaron can be, and this isn’t the first time he’s been forcefully introduced to a wall because of it. But the quickness, the flash of violence, the barely restrained strength there, it catches him off guard, and he frowns as Aaron leans in, their faces close enough for the glint in his pale eyes to be unmistakeable.

“You don’t have a clue about me,” he bites out, voice low and gritty with his fury. 

“No?” Robert challenges, ignoring the dig of one of the coat hooks into his spine. “So what was that about with that girl, then? Trying to rub my nose in it, were you?”

Surprisingly, Aaron smirks. It’s sharp, dangerous, nothing friendly about it as he pulls back slightly. “Why?” he asks, lip curling obnoxiously. “Jealous, were ya?”

The anger in Robert’s chest reaches boiling point, spilling over, hot and heady, through his veins. He shoves Aaron’s hands away from him and fists his own in Aaron’s shirt, shoving back until he has Aaron pinned roughly against the opposite wall. Aaron doesn’t fight him, doesn’t try to push him off, just lets himself be cornered, smirk widening at the fury on Robert’s face.

“Touch my car again,” Robert seethes through gritted teeth, but the threat fizzles into nothing as he takes in the gleam in Aaron’s eyes.

They’re close, bodies pressed almost completely together; he can feel the heavy rise and fall of Aaron’s chest, his breathing shaken by the proximity. His gaze flickers over Robert’s face, something sharp yet almost hopeful in it, and Robert doesn’t even bother to fight his own want. 

Instead, he leans in, closing the gap between them, and kisses Aaron.

The kiss is rough, edged with the anger and frustration still thick in the air around them, and Aaron is all sharp edges and barbed wire; there’s nothing gentle about him, and there’s nothing gentle about the way he kisses. But it’s good, deep and hard and lingering. Aaron’s tongue finds his without hesitation and the rage inside Robert tips over into something hotter and needier, a moan catching in his throat. Reluctantly, he pulls back again, slightly breathless.

Aaron doesn’t back off or push away the hands still on him, palms flat on his chest now rather than fisted in his shirt. He searches Robert’s face, lips parted, and Robert returns the favour, looking Aaron up and down. Heat twists low in his belly, harsh and demanding.

“Right,” he manages. “Upstairs, now.”

He lets go and turns away, climbing the stairs without glancing back. It’s a risk, he knows it is; like turning his back on a cornered animal. But he senses that taking the leap, arrogantly assuming that Aaron will follow rather than lingering to check, will be the nudge Aaron needs. He doesn’t think Aaron will back off, even now there’s space between them, and a second later, he’s proven right; he hears the steady thud of Aaron’s footsteps on the stairs right behind him, no hesitation in them, and he bites back a smile.

When they reach the landing at the top, Aaron shoves past him to push open one of the doors. Robert steps inside, glancing around as Aaron closes the door behind them again. The sound of the lock sliding shut is loud in the silence of the room and sends a pulse of heat down Robert’s spine. 

Aaron’s bedroom is small and decorated in muted, dark colours; beige carpet, slate grey walls, one of them covered in wallpaper patterned with lighter grey, 3D looking squares that give the appearance of studs. Dark, almost black wood bedframe with a crate-like headboard and plain indigo bedsheets; the bed is pressed up against what looks like the remaining frame of an old fireplace, the mantel now a shelf loaded with a mess of books, magazines and knick-knacks. Matching brown-black wood wardrobe, dresser and nightstand, a tall, bold lamp resting on the latter along with a car magazine and half-empty glass of water. There’s crumpled laundry half-spilling out of the laundry basket in one corner, a wicker bin full of wrappers, cans and tissues, a canvas print on one wall of a blurred, lit up cityscape at night; some mechanic books are scattered on top of the dresser along with a couple of trophies and a neat row of toiletries, deodorant and hair gel. An iPhone dock is plugged in and perched on a little triangular stool near the door, a tall tower of CD’s stacked right next to it. 

It’s definitely very Aaron and it’s well lived-in, with a kind of warmth and homeliness, but it’s also slightly tidier than Robert had expected, too; the floor is clear of mess, fresh laundry already put away rather than left out to get wrinkled on the chair near the wardrobe. It smells clean and a little like Aaron’s shower gel and deodorant.

When he turns, Aaron’s still stood by the locked door, watching him. His expression is unfathomable, eyebrows drawn together ever so slightly as he gazes at Robert.

“What?”

He shakes his head slightly. “Just.” He shrugs. “Not had anyone in here before, that’s all.”

Robert raises his eyebrows. “I bet,” he replies. “Reckon I should feel honoured, then.”

Aaron’s expression starts to close off. He’s backing off, spooked by Robert’s words, by the reality of having a bloke in his bedroom, so Robert closes the space between them and dips down, slanting his mouth across Aaron’s.

Like in the garage, there’s no hesitation as Aaron reaches up, hands gripping at Robert’s biceps as he kisses him back with a desperate, demanding intensity. His teeth catch on Robert’s lip, drawing a moan out of him, and Aaron presses even closer in response to the sound, hips arching tight against Robert’s. They’re both already hard, but Aaron doesn’t back off this time; instead, he backs Robert towards the bed. 

Robert’s knees hit the edge and they both tumble back onto the bed, the frame creaking under the weight of them. Aaron pauses, pulling back slightly, a frown on his face. Robert knows what he’s thinking; that they have to be quiet, that he can’t let anyone know what he’s getting up to in here with a man. He cups the back of Aaron’s neck and pulls him down into another kiss, drawing him back into the moment.

Aaron’s slower this time, rough but not angry as he kisses Robert, careful and deep. Robert sinks into it, hand drifting to frame Aaron’s jaw instead. He traces the curve of it, the strength of his features, before dipping his hand lower, tracing the tendon in Aaron’s throat. They grind against each other almost lazily, heat building, sticky and crackling like electricity, between them. Robert presses one last biting kiss to Aaron’s mouth and drops his head back, breathless.

“What do you want?” he murmurs.

He knows he says it too tenderly, too softly, and Aaron reacts, eyes flashing before he sits back, straddling Robert. He tugs impatiently at Robert’s jacket. Sitting up, Robert shucks it and lets Aaron strip him of the shirt he’s wearing underneath. The fabric gets tossed carelessly aside and Aaron plants a firm hand on Robert’s chest, pushing him back down. 

Robert’s always been pretty equal opportunity when it comes to sex. He’s happy to give and he’s happy to take, and he likes a certain push and pull, likes to test and be tested. He wants to pin Aaron down, wants to hold his wrists and kiss him until he’s relaxed and pliant, but he reckons he knows exactly how badly that would go down if he tried, so he doesn’t; he’s happy enough to lie back and let Aaron take control.

Aaron scoots so he can lean down, kissing a path down Robert’s chest. The slick heat of his mouth sends a shiver down Robert’s spine. Closing his eyes, he cups the back of Aaron’s head and breathes slow, enjoying the brief tease of foreplay before Aaron’s making quick work of undoing his belt and jeans. They get shoved down with his boxers until they tangle around his ankles, and then Aaron’s mouth is on him.

“Fuck,” Robert breathes, hissing the word between his teeth. “You really don’t like to wait around, do you?”

Aaron grunts quietly around him and the vibration sends a shudder skidding down Robert’s spine, his hips flexing before he can help it. Aaron doesn’t seem to mind, though; he just places a strong hand low on Robert’s belly and works the base of his cock with his other, stroking in tandem with the suction of his mouth. He’s just as determined and ruthless as before, hurtling Robert right towards the edge so quickly it’s bloody embarrassing, but this time, he has enough presence of mind left to reach down, gently cradling the back of Aaron’s skull.

He falters for a second, losing his rhythm, and Robert holds his breath. But Aaron doesn’t shrug him off or stop entirely; instead, he slows down a little, easing into something just as devastatingly fantastic and focused, but a touch gentler, more exploratory as his tongue teases at Robert’s slit before swirling lower, circling right underneath the head where he’s most sensitive.

“God,” he pants, throwing an arm over his face to muffle his moan. “Aaron, _fuck_.”

Aaron pulls off. “Shut up,” he warns, but there’s no heat in it, and he sinks back down again a second later.

He’s drawing it out a little more now, working Robert with the intent of making him feel good rather than just getting him off like he’s out to prove something – or refuse something. But Robert still finishes quicker than he’d like to admit, biting into the flesh of his own wrist to silence the sound he wants to make as his back arches, his toes curl, and he comes so hard he’s certain he forgets his own fucking name. 

Aaron swallows and pulls off. Robert lifts his arm, glancing down in time to see Aaron wipe his mouth with the sleeve of his shirt, his cheeks flushed, lips swollen and spit-slick. He moves to sit next to Robert on the bed. The only sound breaking the silence is Robert’s own harsh breathing as he tries to regain control of it.

“Fuck,” he manages. He reaches out to touch Aaron’s jaw.

Aaron’s hand flashes out, catching Robert’s arm, but his touch isn’t cruel or painful. He slowly turns his wrist until it’s facing upwards, exposing the bruising skin and teeth marks there. 

“Reckoned you wouldn’t want me making too much noise,” Robert explains, shrugging slightly.

Aaron doesn’t reply. He traces the marks with his thumb, then leans down, pressing a brief kiss to the sore, sensitive skin. A shiver scrapes through Robert, his spent cock twitching slightly against his thigh at the sensation. He watches, his swallow loud in the quietness of the room, and Aaron’s gaze finds his, catching and holding.

He doesn’t run this time. Robert bites back a smile and reaches out, tugging Aaron down into a kiss. He licks the taste of himself from Aaron’s tongue, savouring the tiniest shudder Aaron rewards him with in response, and moves to carefully roll them. Aaron lets him, reaching for the button of his own jeans. Robert leans back, fingers finding the hem of Aaron’s shirt. 

Surprisingly, Aaron’s hand snaps out, and this time his touch is firm and tight as he tugs Robert’s grip sharply away from his shirt. 

“Don’t,” he grits out.

Robert frowns. “What -?”

“ _Don’t_.”

Exhaling slowly, Robert nods. “Okay. Fine.” 

He releases Robert’s wrist slowly, like he doesn’t trust him, and Robert supposes he probably doesn’t, not really. Shoving aside his own confusion, he leaves Aaron’s shirt alone and focuses on his jeans instead, undoing them and shoving them down until Aaron can kick them to the floor. 

For a moment, he ponders, torn on whether he wants to stroke or suck Aaron off. Ultimately, he wants to see Aaron, wants to watch his face as he comes, as Robert _makes_ him come, so he takes the length of him in his grip and leans down, covering Aaron’s body with his own as he kisses him. 

Aaron’s quiet. He covers his eyes with his forearm so only the lower half of his face is exposed and he moves now and then, hips flexing as he rocks into Robert’s grip, his back arching slightly or his fingers curling in pleasure, but he barely makes a sound except for his ragged breathing. 

Robert wonders what it would like to get him to really relax, wonders what it would take to get him to let go completely and moan loud and unashamed; he wants that, wants to completely wreck Aaron in the best possible way. But for now, he just strokes him off and kisses at his pliant lips, watching the flush that spreads across his skin as he gets close.

Aaron inhales sharply and tenses when he comes, spilling between Robert’s fingers and onto the taut plane of his own belly. He doesn’t make a sound, but he does let go just enough that one hand comes up, gripping desperately at Robert’s shoulder, fingertips digging in enough to ache slightly. Robert works him through it until Aaron pushes at his hand, too sensitive. 

For a moment, Aaron simply lies there, chest heaving as he catches his breath. Then he lowers his arm, sits up, and, without looking at Robert, he gets to his feet and crosses the small room. There’s a box of tissues on top of the dresser and he snatches a couple of sheets free, tossing them onto the bed next to Robert to clean his hand. He does, watching Aaron wipe up the mess on his stomach, and they both throw the used tissues into the bin without speaking.

Aaron crosses his arms on top of the dresser and bends to press his forehead against them, his body hunched and his shoulders tight. Robert gets to his feet and dresses quickly, quietly, giving Aaron a couple of minutes before he hesitantly reaches out, resting his fingers lightly on Aaron’s back. He goes completely still, tensing uncomfortably under the touch, so Robert lets his hand drop again.

“Aaron,” he tries.

“You need to go,” he says, muffled against his arm.

He closes his eyes for a second, holding back a sigh. “Aaron -.”

“Go!” He snaps, sharp, then adds, quiet and raw, “ _Please_.”

Robert goes.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *shows up eight months later with Starbucks* 
> 
> I'm sorry for the delay, but if I'm honest, I can't promise regular updates on this. I have most of it mapped out, but I'm struggling with inspiration for the middle chapters, so it's still on a semi-hiatus for now. Sorry.
> 
> content warnings for: internalised homophobia; reference to past adultery; mention of Jack and what he did to Robert; mention of guns (very briefly); mention of explicit sexual content; arguments; mention of self-hatred; mention of alcohol; Jackson and mention of Aaron hitting him; angst.

“You’re quiet,” Vic remarks, flippant.

Robert glances up at her. Despite her tone, her dark eyes are steady on him, something like concern but harsher, shrewder, clear on her face. He schools his own expression and offers a shrug.

“Is that a problem?” 

“No,” she replies. “Just weird, that’s all. You look all…”

He frowns. “All what?”

“I dunno. Pensive, I suppose.”

“I’m surprised you know what that word means.” It slips out of his mouth before he can help it, an automatic, defensive response, and he immediately feels like a complete prick. “I didn’t mean that. Sorry.”

She shakes her head, lips pursed as she turns away. “I’m not Andy, Rob. If you’re looking for a punching bag, piss off elsewhere.”

The disappointment in her tone is like a punch to the chest, even worse for the fact that it isn’t exactly uncommon. He keeps letting her down. Always has done. Sometimes, it feels like he’ll never be able to live up to her expectations of him, but most of the time…well, most of the time, he knows he deserves the disappointment aimed his way. He can be a wanker sometimes, he knows that. Usually he doesn’t care, but this is Vic, and she doesn’t deserve it.

“I think I’ve done something stupid,” he admits quietly.

She pauses, expression softening a little. “Not exactly unusual for you,” she points out. “What is it this time?”

He sighs. “Cheers for that.”

“I’m joking. Mostly. Besides, if you’re gonna be an arsehole to everyone else, you have to expect some of it back.” But there’s no real heat in her tone and she kicks her leg out, jabbing him in his thigh with her toes. “What did you do?”

He hesitates. He can’t tell her. He can’t – won’t – out Aaron, and he doesn’t want to admit that he’s been stupid enough to chase after a closeted bloke. There’s something embarrassing about it. As much as he empathises with Aaron – he himself had spent long enough hiding his sexuality, after all – and as much as he wants to help him, he can’t help but feel a little humiliated at the inherent rejection of going after someone so unattainable. 

He knows it isn’t healthy, either. He’s finally had the guts to come out and be true to who he really is. Seeking out someone like Aaron, someone not only closeted but steeped in internalised homophobia no matter how hard he tries to hide it, isn’t going to be good for his mental well-being. But he can’t help it. He doesn’t want to stay away from Aaron. He wants…

He just _wants_. 

“I slept with someone I probably shouldn’t have done,” he says finally.

“Bit late to start worrying about that,” she remarks. “You should’ve worried about it _before_ you cheated on Chrissie.”

“That’s not what I meant -,” he starts, but she sits up suddenly.

“Wait, are you and Chrissie getting back together?”

He shakes his head. “No. Of course not.”

“But there might be a chance, right?” She reaches out, taking his hands in her own. “Rob, I’m so proud of you, you know that, don’t you? And I love you. I’m happy that you’re able to be comfortable in who you are now. But you and Chrissie…you were so happy when you were with her.”

“Mutual adultery usually isn’t a sign of a happy marriage, Vic,” he points out dryly.

“But -.”

“Vic,” he interrupts. “I know you like Chrissie. But me and her, it’s over. Really over.”

She nods, gaze searching his face. “But you still care about her. I know you do.”

“I do,” he agrees. “But I don’t love her, not anymore. We’re better apart, and it’s better that we can do this without it being bitter and ugly for everyone involved.”

“Alright. But if you’re not hoping to get back together with Chrissie, then why are you bothered about sleeping with someone?”

“It just…it could get messy, that’s all. It’s complicated.”

She groans. “Rob, tell me they’re not married.”

He snorts. “You really have a low opinion of me, don’t you?”

“No!” she says quickly. “I just…you said it could get complicated. What’s more complicated than that?”

“Someone…not interested in more.”

“More,” she repeats, then raises her eyebrows. “Wow, okay. And you _do_ want more?”

He hesitates, then nods. There’s no point denying it, especially to himself. He does want more with Aaron. There’s something about him that draws Robert in, that has him wanting to dig deeper and find out more. There’s something about him that makes Robert want to _stay_ , despite how messy he knows it could get.

Vic takes a moment to think about that, and then she shrugs. “Rob, you’re not even divorced from Chrissie yet. The last thing you need to be doing is chasing after someone unattainable. Maybe just…just focus on yourself for a bit, yeah?”

“Right.”

“I know it’s not the advice you’re maybe looking for, but I reckon it’s for the best. If this person ain’t interested in you, then there’s no point, is there?”

“I suppose not.”

She smiles, giving his shoulder a little pat. “I’ll make you a brew.”

Robert watches her get up and shuffle into the kitchen, and sighs, leaning his head back against the couch. It’s hard to think about – it still hurts after all these years; still makes him feel raw and alone – but right now…right now he really wishes his mum was here to ask for her advice.

***

The thing is, he should be used to it.

He should be used to the disappointment and the rejection; he should be used to the bitter anger that boils inside of him whenever he sees Andy get his own way _yet_ again. They’re both adults, they both live their own lives – and yet it’s always Andy who gets what he wants, whether that’s Diane and Vic’s support and defence, or the village’s unwavering acceptance, or Jack’s _fucking_ ring.

If he’s honest, he doesn’t know why it rattles him so much. He doesn’t want anything of Jack’s, let alone a ring and everything it symbolised; everything he eschewed the second he walked into that bedroom and saw Robert wasn’t alone. But it’s Andy getting it. It’s Diane giving it to Andy and never once offering it to Robert. It’s Andy’s smug smile and Katie’s faux sweetness that gets under his skin. 

It’s another reminder that Andy belongs, and Robert, no matter what he does, never will. 

Their voices ricochet in his head as he walks. Diane’s sharpness, her disappointment in Robert voicing how he feels at being rejected once again – the way she said she was sorry he had to find out this way, as if they ever planned to tell him when it’s obvious they hadn’t. Doug stepping in, getting involved, pushing himself into business that isn’t his, yet Robert’s clearly the bad guy for rejecting chastisement from a bloke he doesn’t even know. And even Vic – Vic, who can watch telly with him on the couch and give him love advice – even Vic with her _don’t be boring_. 

He doesn’t know where he’s going. He’s just walking aimlessly, hands shoved into the pockets of his jacket, his shoulders hunched against the brittle December air. He can’t go back into the heart of the village, not right now; he’s so close to just losing it, and if he does, he knows the blame will be placed with him yet again, and it’ll be another reason for the family – _his family_ – to shut him out.

He crosses the bridge, glancing up when a car slows as it approaches him. He recognises it and frowns as it draws to a stop next to him, the window rolled down.

“What?” He asks – demands it, really, the word snapping between his teeth, but he doesn’t have the energy for this, not right now.

Aaron just looks at him, unruffled. “You seem weird.”

“No, I don’t.” Sharp and defensive. He’s lashing out again because of his family, because of fucking Andy. 

But Aaron just takes it and shrugs it off, lets it roll off him like water off a duck’s back. 

“Alright,” he says, looking away. His voice dips quieter as he adds, “Just thought I’d upset you or something.”

Robert almost laughs. _Upset him_. As if Aaron hadn’t sucked him off in his bedroom at the pub, as if he hadn’t let Robert make him come and then thrown him out after, throwing the full poisonous weight of his own self-hatred at Robert to make him leave. As if there’s nothing _upsetting_ about that. 

He supposes it’s ironic, really. After all, he’s done it to plenty of blokes in the past. Used them and chucked them, blamed them for his own internalised homophobia – treated them coldly, made sure they left him well alone, because then he could pretend that he was still straight, that his one night stands with men meant nothing. And now he’s getting a taste of his own medicine, and it tastes pretty bitter. 

But he knows there’s no point telling that to Aaron; it’ll just make him withdraw into himself again and leave, and right now – Robert doesn’t actually want him to leave. Besides, it _isn’t_ because of Aaron that he’s upset, not right this second, anyway.

So he says, simply, “No.”

“D’you wanna go somewhere?”

The invitation is a surprise, but not an unwelcome one. Robert looks away, down the empty road and out over the rolling fields, and then back at Aaron, who’s watching him with a stoic sort of patience.

“Gun shop?” he asks, and Aaron’s forehead creases.

“What?”

“Never mind.”

He rounds the car and climbs in, buckling his seatbelt. Aaron watches him, his expression unreadable, and Robert settles back into his seat with a sigh.

“Go on,” he says. “Drive, then.”

Aaron’s face twists slightly, belligerent. “Where to?”

He almost loses his temper for a second, since Aaron invited _him_ to go somewhere, but he swallows it back. Aaron isn’t to blame for his current mood and it’s obvious he’s extending some kind of olive branch, offering to get Robert away from the village and whatever’s got him wound up, no matter where that might be.

Still. There’s something about Aaron that makes Robert want to push, heedless of the risks. So he does.

“Hotten,” he says. “Bell Street. You know it?”

“’Course,” Aaron replies simply, and puts his foot down.

They don’t talk as Aaron drives. The stereo is on, set to Radio 1; some shitty techno beat is playing, quiet but annoying. Robert reaches out to switch it over or turn it off, but Aaron intercepts him, casually knocking his hand aside with a flick of his own. 

Robert raises his eyebrows, incredulous. “You like this stuff?”

“It’s alright.”

“It’s fucking terrible.”

Aaron, surprisingly, gives a little huff of laughter. “I went to one of his gigs once, when I were fourteen. Well, snuck in, really – went with a couple of mates to a club he was doing a set in and we climbed through the bog window. We got kicked out before halfway through the set, but trust me, _that_ was shite. He’s got better since then.”

Robert gazes at him. It’s only a tiny thing, a meaningless slice of Aaron’s life – his past – that he’s just offered, but he’s opening up, and Robert tries to ignore the throb of fondness in his chest. 

“I can’t imagine you liking this kind of music,” he admits, and Aaron shrugs.

“I used to, anyway. When I was younger.”

“What do you like now?”

“Artic Monkeys, Mumford and Sons, The 1975, Tame Impala, that sort of thing,” Aaron replies. “Bon Iver and Alt-J are pretty decent, too.”

“So, indie,” Robert says, grinning slightly. “ _That_ I would have pegged you for.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“You’re the moodiest bloke I’ve ever met,” he points out. “And I don’t think I’ve seen you wear anything other than those black hoodies.”

“Bit judgemental, mate,” Aaron counters, but there’s a smile teasing at his mouth. “Why, what are _you_ into?”

Robert considers for a moment. “Bit of everything, I suppose,” he finally answers. “I like a lot of the old stuff -.”

“Makes sense.”

“Why?”

“You’re old.”

“Oi,” he laughs. “I’m only…” He does the mental maths, winces. “Six years older than you.”

“Like I said,” Aaron agrees. “Old.”

“You’re such a wind-up,” Robert accuses.

“And you’re _wound_ up,” he counters. “You had a face like a slapped arse back there.”

Robert frowns. “Why do you care?”

Aaron’s jaw tightens. He keeps his gaze on the road, his expression cool, distant; giving nothing away. Robert thinks he’s stepped over the line – something he’s pretty much used to, by now; he usually revels in stepping over lines, but it’s impossible to know where the line even _is_ with Aaron, it’s as mercurial as the man himself – and he bites back the instinct to keep pushing, but a minute later, Aaron finally answers.

“I’d like to try it,” he says. “Us. Mates.”

“Mates,” Robert repeats flatly. “Right.”

“What, you changed your mind?” Aaron challenges. There’s something simmering there, underneath his belligerent tone; like he’s hoping Robert will say yes, as much as he’s hoping he’ll say no.

“Got into the car with you, didn’t I?” he replies. “I reckon we could try the whole mates thing.”

“Right. Good. So?”

“So…?”

“So, what? Did someone piss in your cornflakes this morning or what?”

_Charming_ , Robert thinks. He shrugs, turning his face away to look out of the window. 

Rolling fields, scrubby, winter-bleached trees and crumbling side roads flash past them as Aaron traverses the country lanes with confident ease, despite the fact that he’s definitely pushing the speed limit. It’s the kind of cockiness Robert’s seen plenty of times from young lads after passing their test, but it looks like Aaron never outgrew his boy-racer phase. His self-assuredness behind the wheel is probably born from living here for so long; these back roads are all Aaron knows, the web of back lanes as much a part of him as the map of veins in his body. He knows them well enough to play fast and loose with the speed limit.

Robert had been like that once. He’d had his own country boy-racer stage. And then he’d left, and he’d ended up in London, where the roads are so different, the traffic so much denser, and somewhere along the way, he’d become more cautious. He’s never been one to drive slow, unless he’s forced to by jams; his Audi is a piece of art, something that deserves to be driven fast, to be driven powerfully. He’s not exactly afraid to take risks – probably the opposite, if he’s honest. He can’t resist risks, even when it fucks everything up for himself. But Aaron’s speed still has him a little nervous, especially on the tight, narrow lanes and blind corners.

Aaron taps his fingertips idly against the steering wheel. The sound of it drags Robert’s gaze away from the dreary landscape, back to the man next to him. He’s got one hand resting lazily on the gear shift, ready to adjust for the tight turns, and his other hand curled around the wheel, fingers beating a little tune. He effortlessly manoeuvres a sharp right turn with a little flick of his wrist to alter the steering, casual, as if it’s just muscle memory to him. 

There’s something incredibly attractive about it – the laid-back posture, the easy skill in his driving, the sharpness in his gaze as he watches the road – that has Robert’s gaze lingering, something hot and heavy clinching in his belly. It’s stupid – ridiculous, really – to be so captivated by _driving_ , but here he is, once again staring at Aaron Dingle with a dry mouth and bloody butterflies in his chest, like some sort of damn cliché.

“Diane,” he finds himself saying.

Aaron doesn’t glance his way. “It’s Aaron, actually,” he quips lazily, and Robert almost snorts.

“She gave Andy my dad’s wedding ring,” he explains, and feels his earlier anger simmer back to the surface.

Aaron nods slowly. “Right.”

“He’s having it melted down to make two rings for him and Katie,” Robert adds.

“That’s…” Aaron’s gaze flickers to him, then back to the road, his expression bemused. “Nice? If you’re into that sort of thing.”

Robert grits his teeth. “Yeah, well, I’m not into getting kicked in the teeth, as it happens,” he snaps.

Aaron doesn’t even flinch. “And how is it a kick in the teeth?”

It’s funny, really, how on edge Aaron can be sometimes – how volatile, and ready to lash out at the slightest provocation. He’s mercurial, with too many buttons to even hope at trying to guess how to avoid them. But other times he’s so calm, refusing to rise to the bait; even now, with Robert throwing his anger and resentment his way, he just shrugs it off like water sliding off glass, completely unruffled and practically belligerent with it. It’s fascinating. It’s infuriating.

“Of course it’s a kick in the teeth,” Robert seethes. “I’m his real son. Andy’s just adopted.”

Aaron frowns. “Pretty sure it counts for exactly the same thing,” he points out, and now there’s a trace of sharpness in his words. “And, anyway, what about Victoria?”

“Well, I’m older than her.”

“Andy’s older than you,” he counters instantly.

Robert twists in his seat to stare at him, incredulous. “Sorry, who’s side are you on here?” he demands, and Aaron’s frown deepens.

“I just don’t see why there has to _be_ sides. Do ya not think you’re just being a bit soft?”

He feels his fingers curl into his palms. “Yeah, well,” he snips. “I don’t expect _you_ to understand, your family being what it is.”

Aaron just gives a snarky nod. “Oh, yeah, sleeping with our brother’s wives and all that? Don’t be pathetic.”

“Pathetic?” Robert repeats. He knows his tone is cold and hard, at odds with the anger burning inside of him. “Yeah, no, no, _I’m_ pathetic. I’m the one pretending I’m straight while sucking off blokes. I’m the one who has to keep my shirt on during it because I hate myself _that_ much. Yeah, right.”

Aaron hits the brakes. The car jolts to a sharp stop, sudden enough that they both lurch forward slightly before their seatbelts snap them back. The force of it makes Robert’s chest ache from the pressure of the seatbelt, adrenaline spiking through him, but they’re fine – just stopped in the middle of an empty road, nothing but fields around them.  
Aaron’s hands are tight around the wheel now, his gaze cold and ruthless on the road in front of them. When he speaks, he says the words through his teeth, low and vicious.

“Listen,” he spits. “Unless you want a slap, I suggest you keep your mouth _shut_.”

If Robert was smart, he’d back down. He’d see the warning – recognise the danger and barbed wire right in front of him – and politely toe his way back into safe territory. But he’s not smart, not when it comes to things like this – not when it comes to pride, and anger, and refusing to be the one to give in. He’s too confrontational, too arrogant, he knows he is, and right now, he wants to push back, wants to throw Aaron’s anger back at him just to see if he’ll snap.

“You’re touchy,” he remarks coolly. “Aren’t ya?”

“You don’t know a _thing_ ,” Aaron seethes. “About me.”

“Yeah, and you don’t know a thing about _me_.”

“Maybe I know you more than I think,” Aaron shoots back, his tone hard enough to crush diamonds. “Maybe I’m the only one who knows you at all.”

A laugh barks out of Robert, sharp and incredulous. “You don’t know anything.”

“I know you’re an arrogant prick, but I also know that underneath all of that charm and confidence, you’re insecure. You’re _weak_. You hate yourself just as much as I do, except _you_ turn it onto others instead of yourself. You try and tear other people down to make yourself feel better. You get off on it, on hurting people, on breaking them. I know that all this stick you’re giving me about who I am – it’s fucking empty, because it weren’t that long ago that _you_ were playing happy families and screwing around behind your wife’s back. You call me pathetic, but you’re a hypocrite. A smug, insecure hypocrite, and you’re bitter. You’re bitter that the people around you are happy and you aren’t. But that ain’t their fault, Robert. Take a long, hard look in the mirror and you might see who is actually to blame.”

It’s not anything he hasn’t heard before, from various people, in various different ways. But no one has ever thrown it at him like this, all at once, cutting right into the core of him and digging out his every single flaw to throw up on display, ugly and macabre. No one has seen through him like this, so easily, so callously; seen everything he is, everything that he hates and loves about himself, and summarised it in one cruel and brutally honest castigation.

It _hurts_. For a second, Robert feels completely flayed open, his guts and heart and soul in full view. He feels seen – and he feels like he’s been found severely wanting. It takes him a second to breathe in, to start to pull himself back together, to start to painstakingly build back up the walls Aaron just effortlessly tore down. 

They sit there in silence as the minutes drag by. Aaron doesn’t set off again, but he doesn’t make a move to get out of the car, and he doesn’t try and force Robert to get out of the car either. He just sits there, still as stone, his jaw clenched hard enough to grind down granite and his gaze fixed on the horizon. Only his fingers move, twitching restlessly where they’re squeezing the steering wheel hard enough that it creaks slightly in protest.

Finally, he exhales slowly. “But you shouldn’t hate yourself,” he says quietly. “Not as much as you do, anyway. Shouldn’t make others hate you, either. You might find people actually like ya if you give them a chance to.”

Robert swallows. These words – these kinder, just as brutally honest words – hurt too, but it’s a sweeter kind of ache, one that forces his ribs apart and wraps tenderly around his heart. He tries to shake off the throb of something close to – close to what? Gratitude? Hope? _Affection?_ – that beats to the unsteady rhythm of his pulse as he turns to look at Aaron again. 

It isn’t fair. He’s never felt like this, never felt so hooked on someone, never felt so uncertain and so – so out of control of himself. He wants Aaron. He _likes_ him. Enough that he’s still sat here, letting Aaron’s words sink down into him; enough that he wants to keep trying to get to know him, to encourage him to finally curl out from himself, to accept that maybe _he_ deserves to be loved, too. He’s never felt himself start to fall for someone this quickly and this uncontrollably. It’s a bad idea. Aaron isn’t out. He has more issues than the fucking _National Geographic_ and apparently no desire to try and work through them, not for himself or for anyone else. They’ll just hurt each other. It’s inevitable.

That, or Robert will fuck it all up. He’ll fuck _Aaron_ up, even more than he already is. It’s what he does. It’s all he does.

He licks his lips, takes a second before he forces words out from his dry throat. “Maybe you should take your own advice,” he counters, and Aaron shrugs.

“Probably should,” he agrees. “Probably won’t, though. You getting out?”

“Do you want me to?”

He shrugs again. “I don’t care. I can take you back to the village, if ya want.”

Robert considers, trying to read Aaron’s expression. “And if I don’t want?” He hazards.

“You said Hotten. Bell Street.” 

It isn’t a question, but Robert nods.

“Yeah,” he says.

“Yeah,” Aaron repeats. 

He doesn’t say anything more, just starts the car again. Reaching out, he turns up the music until it’s deafening. There’s no chance of trying to have a conversation over it, which is probably Aaron’s point, so Robert stays silent, and so does Aaron.

But, when they reach a crossroads, he doesn’t take the turn that will eventually lead them back to Emmerdale. Instead, he turns left – towards Hotten.

***

Bell Street isn’t too busy, which means Aaron manages to snag a decent parking space. He feeds the ticket machine some cash, slaps the slip onto his dashboard where it’s visible, and then looks at Robert, expression sullen but something expectant in his gaze.

For a second, Robert almost second-guesses his decision, especially after their row in the car. He’s pretty sure Aaron’s reaction to the destination he has in mind will be anything but positive; in fact, with Aaron still so on edge, it might just be what tips him over and makes him lash out properly. 

But, once again, Robert doesn’t back down from the warning, doesn’t try and walk away from the danger. No, he wades right into it – embraces it, even. Part of him wants to see Aaron tip over that edge. Maybe it’ll be the push Robert needs to stop chasing after something he can’t have. Or maybe it’ll make him push back just as hard; he’s good at that, after all, at pushing and pushing until the other person either crumbles or _snaps_ , and he wonders how that will go with Aaron, wonders if maybe he can drag out that part of Aaron, that fierce, simmering, _beautiful_ attraction and lust he keeps locked deep down inside of him most of the time – wonders if maybe he can get Aaron to give in again, to want him back, for longer than just sloppy blowjobs or a quick handjob. 

So he nods his head slightly to indicate where they’re heading and starts walking. Aaron falls into step next to him, hands shoved into the pockets of his hoodie, his shoulders slouched slightly. His expression is set into a familiar disinterested, grumpy scowl, all hard lines and cool eyes, but Robert knows him better now, knows that this is pretty much Aaron’s resting face. He could give his uncle a run for his money when it comes to being a sullen bastard.

It isn’t until they reach the corner of the street that Aaron finally clocks where they’re heading. He stops short, gazing across the road at Bar West. His expression doesn’t change, but he doesn’t say anything either, and he doesn’t move from where he’s suddenly stuck like glue to the curb, ignoring the other pedestrians that push past him to cross the road.

Robert rolls his eyes. “It’s the middle of the afternoon. I bet it’s practically empty. Besides, wanna know something?” He leans in, lets his tone go cutting as he points out, “They serve straight people, too.”

Aaron doesn’t rise to the bait. He just looks at Robert, his expression suddenly contemplative. “You reckon I’m scared to go in there,” he says.

Robert shrugs one shoulder. “Aren’t you?” He looks Aaron up and down and scoffs, shaking his head slightly. “Look at ya. Bet you’re thinking of doing a runner. Back to the car, quick, before someone sees you and thinks you might be – _horror_ – gay.”

Still, Aaron doesn’t push back, but he doesn’t crumble, either, doesn’t tuck tail and run like Robert’s half-expecting. He just meets the challenge with an unreadable expression, crossing the road without a single falter or hesitation in his step. Pushing open one of the glass doors, he steps inside Bar West and does a half-jog down the steps that lead into the main area, his hands still tucked into his pockets. He doesn’t glance back at Robert as he makes his way to the bar, but Robert follows all the same, a little surprised but, admittedly, a lot smug. He knows he’s smirking a little.

Aaron leans on the bar, his arms crossed on the surface of it. He taps his fingertips idly, his expression hard – his gaze flits left, right, then back to the bar, then, briefly, to Robert, and Robert realises that he’s not quite as calm and self-assured as he’s trying to appear. That cagey wariness wraps around him again like a well-worn cloak, but he isn’t withdrawing; the shutters aren’t slamming down, not yet. 

The bartender approaches, looks up – and does a double-take, his eyebrows lifting slightly. “Aaron,” he says, surprise turning the name into a question. “Bloody hell, mate, it’s been a while.”

Robert feels his smirk drop, his own surprise sharp and tainted by something close to disappointment – or irritation, maybe. He’d tried to challenge Aaron and yet, somehow, without even trying, Aaron’s turned it back on him, taken him off guard, yet again.

Aaron doesn’t look at him, just shrugs. “Yeah,” he answers. “Been away for a bit.”

“Oh yeah? Anywhere nice?”

“France,” he replies. “Then prison for a bit.”

The bartender doesn’t even blink, just nods. “Well, what can I get you?”

“Pint,” Aaron replies, then glances Robert’s way. “Two?” 

Robert collects himself enough to shake his head. “Lager for me. Thanks.”

Within a couple of minutes, there’s a fresh pint and an ice-cold bottle on the bar. Aaron hands over a fiver to cover the cost, waves off the 20p change, gesturing for it to go in the charity box instead. He picks up his drink and makes his way over to a table, slouching in one of the seats. Robert sits down opposite him.

“So,” he says. “You’ve been here before.”

“A few times.”

He gives a slight huff of laughter, shaking his head. “Suppose I should have seen it coming,” he remarks. “Closeted, sure, but where else are you gonna find your secret hook-ups? Makes sense. I did the same thing.”

“Yeah. You did.” Aaron takes a sip of his beer. “So maybe you should stop with the judgement, mate. You’re not better than me. In fact, you were worse – at least I don’t have a missus I’m cheating on.”

Robert nods slightly. “Point taken,” he allows. “Still. You must have come here a lot for them to recognise you.”

“I told you,” Aaron bites out. “Just a few times, and not since I got back.”

“Why?”

He shrugs. “Not interested.”

“Because you’re straight,” Robert drawls. “Right. Of course.”

“Because the blokes here – they know me now,” Aaron says slowly. “You saw yourself. Besides, I’ve been getting it elsewhere lately.”

“Where?”

He gives Robert a flat look. “Don’t be thick,” he mutters.

“Just me?” Robert asks, surprised, and Aaron shrugs.

“I told ya. I’ve not been getting it anywhere else. Not here, and definitely not back in Emmerdale. Just you.” 

Robert doesn’t know what his expression does. He hadn’t really thought about it before; he’s been focused on his divorce, focused on trying to claw the pieces of his life back together. He’d just assumed Aaron was shagging other blokes, that he had other secrets going on, but the knowledge that he hasn’t – that it’s just been Robert, even just for the two times they’ve been together, it’s strangely pleasing.

Aaron rolls his eyes. “Calm down, mate. It’s not exactly a promise ring, is it?”

Robert leans back in his chair. “What makes you think I want a promise ring?”

“’Cause you’re still here. Still chasing me.”

“You’re not exactly running,” Robert points out. “I reckon you like me chasing you.”

Aaron’s face does something complicated. He grimaces, looking away, and drains half his pint in two deep gulps. “I don’t…like it,” he says lowly – forces the words out, really, like he’s ashamed. “But I want it.”

“You want me.” Robert doesn’t even try to hide the smugness in his voice.

“I want…” he sighs, tipping his head back. “I want things to be easier. I want…I don’t know what I want. I want to be normal.”

Robert raises his eyebrows. “And, what? Being gay isn’t normal?” He asks sharply. “Might want to look around ya, read the room before you make statements like that.”

“Again with the thinking you’re better than me. I reckon you had a similar opinion about being bisexual a few months ago.” Aaron points out coolly. “And, no. That’s not what I mean. Being gay – it’s normal, it isn’t…I don’t…I don’t have a _problem_ , alright?”

“Right. Just with yourself, then.”

“I don’t expect you to understand.”

Robert frowns. “You just said yourself that I was in the closet a few months ago. I’m pretty sure I’m the only person in your life who _does_ understand.”

“But you _don’t_ ,” Aaron snaps, his hand slapping down on the table. “You don’t. Nobody does.”

“So then talk to me.”

Aaron shakes his head. “What is it with you, anyway? With the chasing after me? I would’ve thought you’ve got other things on your mind. Like your wife, for one.”

“Soon to be ex-wife,” Robert corrects. “And, yeah. Sure. But I like you, Aaron. We had fun together, right? I want – I want more of that. I want more of you.”

“I can’t give you it,” Aaron says, but there’s no bite in his tone. “You’re barking up the wrong tree, mate.”

He simply shrugs. “Friends, then.”

Aaron just sinks the rest of his pint and wipes his mouth clean with his sleeve. It’s disgusting and Robert pulls a face, but Aaron isn’t paying attention to him. His gaze is fixed on something over Robert’s shoulder, his expression going tight as he sits up a little straighter in his chair, squares his shoulders like he’s preparing to do battle. 

It isn’t until Robert hears the scuff of shoes right behind him that he glances over his shoulder. The man approaching them doesn’t even spare Robert a look; his gaze is on Aaron, his expression dangerously unreadable as he wordlessly drags the third chair out from under the table and drops into it. He sets his own pint down on the table and offers Aaron a sharp grin.

“Alright?” He greets. “I wasn’t expecting to see you here. I thought you’d done one.”

“I did,” Aaron replies flatly. 

“But you came back.”

He lifts an eyebrow, sarcastic. “Apparently.”

The guy turns to look at Robert. “You want to be careful with this one,” he says, and his tone is amicable, friendly even, but there’s something lurking there that Robert can’t get a read on. “Bit happy with his fists.”

Aaron shakes his head sharply and looks away, his jaw clenching. Robert glances between them, trying to grasp the tension – he can’t tell if it’s dangerous, raw with whatever history they have, or if it’s something thicker, more complex. Something about the man’s gaze as he looks at Aaron rubs Robert the wrong way; it’s familiar – intimate, maybe, in a sharp, reluctant kind of way. 

When Aaron doesn’t take the bait, the guy leans back in his chair.

“I’m Jackson,” he says. “I reckon Aaron probably hasn’t told you about me.”

“Nothing to tell,” Aaron bites out.

Jackson just snorts. “I heard you were on the run,” he says. “And then you got done for covering for your mate.”

Aaron shrugs one shoulder. “And?”

“And I reckon I still owe you that pint.”

Confusion creases Aaron’s expression. “You what?”

“The one I said I’d buy you as a peace offering,” Jackson says. “When you got out of prison. Except you never called me. You took up with that Ed bloke.” 

Robert looks across at Aaron. He isn’t surprised; he’d already guessed as much that Aaron had gone to France with Ed, despite people thinking he was into the guy’s sister. And this is Jackson, the bloke Aaron hit and went to prison for. 

_Sloppy_ , he thinks. He’d always been careful with his one night stands; never too close to his own doorstep, and never anyone he might see again. Never anyone who might crop up and cause him hassle down the line. Aaron’s been a lot less cautious, apparently, and it’s not surprising, but Robert does wonder how he’s managed to keep his secret for this long.

When Aaron doesn’t give Jackson an answer, he takes a long pull from his beer, leaning back with confidence, as if they’re all old mates meeting up for a drink. Robert finds himself watching Jackson, assessing him. He’s good looking, in a slightly rugged sort of way; tall and lean, with dark eyes and hands that are raw and chapped from manual labour. He tries to picture Aaron with Jackson, tries to figure out if maybe Aaron has a type. Tries to figure out if Robert fits in with that type.

Silence drags between them. Aaron stares at his empty glass, his jaw clenched, but Jackson doesn’t seem to mind the awkward tension. Not getting a reaction from Aaron, he turns his gaze to Robert.

“Still playing straight, is he?” he asks. “Word of advice: don’t expect him to change. He never does. I reckon he never will.”

Aaron flinches, just slightly, a muscle twitching in his jaw, and something flares inside of Robert. He takes a drink from his lager, holding Jackson’s gaze, and then offers a slow smirk.

“Fucked you and dumped you, did he?” he says. “He probably just wasn’t that into you, mate.”

Jackson huffs a slight laugh. “That wasn’t the impression I got.”

He tries not to picture Aaron and Jackson together, like that – tries not to let himself wonder how many times they fucked, whether Aaron took his shirt off for Jackson, whether he ever stayed after, or if he chucked Jackson out straight away, just like he did Robert. 

Before he can answer, though, Aaron’s chair scrapes back and he snaps to his feet, beelining for the door. Jackson scoots his own chair back, sighing.

“Aaron,” he calls, and there’s a note of apology in his tone, warring with his frustration.

There’s clearly a hell of a lot of history there, but Robert couldn’t give a damn. He wants Aaron, pure and simple, so he doesn’t dwell on Jackson and whatever he might have once had with Aaron. Instead, he leaves his drink discarded on the table and pushes up from his seat, and he follows Aaron before Jackson can, rushing out of the bar and onto the street.

The pedestrian traffic has picked up a little – people heading home from work, or doing a bit of late afternoon shopping – and Robert stops, turns on the spot, searching both sides of the street and the one across the road.

But Aaron is gone.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> for the record, this update is 100% down to those reading it and commenting- the amount of feedback, support and overall loveliness I received on the last chapter was overwhelming and incredible. it gave me the encouragement and inspiration I needed to keep going and pick this fic back up with fresh motivation.
> 
> thank you so much <3 
> 
> content warnings for: implied abandonment issues; internalised homophobia; closeted character; brief reference to Gordon; brief mention of Jack Sugden and his homophobia; explicit sexual content; scars; reference to past suicide attempt; self-harm; reference to self-hatred; alcohol; jealousy; angst.

For a moment, Robert just stands there, frozen on the pavement with no idea what to do.

He considers trying to look for Aaron, but dismisses the idea. Hotten isn’t exactly a big town, but it’s pointless trying to search for Aaron in it; he could start heading south to look, only for Aaron to cut through an alley to go north, and they’d bypass each other entirely. Instead, he makes his way back to where Aaron parked, hoping that Aaron’s car will still be there – and that Aaron himself will be in it.

Thankfully, the car _is_ there. Unfortunately, Aaron isn’t. Robert tries the doors by rote, but of course they’re locked. So he leans against the hood, tucking his hands into his pockets, and resigns himself to waiting.

It’s brittle and cold out. With just over a week to go until Christmas, the amount of shoppers picks up as the afternoon creeps closer to early evening, people flocking to town to pick up presents after work or school. Robert checks his phone, but there aren’t any notifications from Aaron. He tries to give him a call. He isn’t surprised when it goes straight to voicemail. 

Blowing out a breath that blossoms misty white in the frigid wind, he turns his phone off silent to be certain he won’t miss it if Aaron _does_ contact him, and adjusts his position, trying to get comfortable. The hood of the car is freezing and hard under his arse, making his hip ache as he tries to keep contact with it to a minimum. 

He isn’t entirely sure what he’s doing. Aaron’s done one; who knows when he’ll return to the car, _if_ he even does. He might just find another way to get back to the village, or stay out somewhere. Robert should make his way to the bus stop to catch the last one back to Emmerdale, or find the nearest taxi rank. 

_Should_ …but he doesn’t. He just waits. The sky creeps from bleak grey to rich blue, and then darkens even further as evening settles in fully. The streets start to empty; the shops are all closed, only the lights from the nearest pub spilling golden warmth over the pavement. The temperature drops even more once the sun has gone down; Robert’s fingers go numb, even tucked deep into the pockets of his coat, and he shivers, but he doesn’t move. 

Eventually, the scuff of trainers on concrete draws his attention to his right. Aaron’s got his hood up and his hands in his pockets, his shoulders slouched as he approaches the car, and his already grim expression shifts to a scowl when he realises Robert’s leaning against his car.

“What are you doing?” he demands, and Robert shrugs.

“Waiting, apparently. Took you long enough.”

“You could have got the bus,” Aaron points out. “Or a taxi. S’not like you can’t afford it.”

“Yeah, well. I didn’t.” Robert pushes away from the hood. “Are we going, then?”

Aaron doesn’t move from the pavement. “Why did you wait?” 

“I…” he hesitates, but doesn’t look away from Aaron. He hadn’t been sure himself, until Aaron came back, until he saw Aaron’s face. He doesn’t bother lying, just says, “I didn’t want to leave you. So, are we getting in, or what? It’s fucking freezing out here.”

Aaron doesn’t make a move to unlock the car. He just stares at Robert, his expression unreadable, but Robert has the distinct impression that Aaron is trying to figure him out. He gazes back silently until, finally, Aaron digs his keys out of his pocket, fumbling with them before he manages to unlock the car. His fingers look just as frozen as Robert’s feel. Once they’re both inside, Aaron starts the engine but idles, waiting for the air billowing from the heaters to warm up. Then he holds his hands out in front of them, warming his cold skin, and Robert does the same.

“You’re not used to it, are you?” he asks. “People waiting for you. Refusing to abandon you.”

He doesn’t mean it harshly, but Aaron flinches all the same, ever so slightly. Robert wouldn’t have even noticed it if he hadn’t been watching Aaron so closely.

“Family do,” he replies evenly. “They stay.”

Robert thinks about that, thinks about the Dingle clan and the way they close ranks around each other. Then he thinks about Cain and Charity, and how Debbie seems to spends most of her time refusing to talk to one or the other, or, sometimes, even both of them. He thinks about the Dingle sheep that didn’t get to stay with the flock; the ones who left Emmerdale, the ones he’s learned about since he came back, like Eli.

“All of them?” he asks, and the corner of Aaron’s mouth tips into a slight, humourless smile.

“Most of ‘em,” he answers. “The ones that matter.”

“Do any of them know?” he ventures. “About you, I mean.”

“No.” Aaron’s voice is tight and sharp, a warning in it as he suggests, “Leave it, yeah.”

Naturally, Robert doesn’t. “So you trust them not to abandon you…but only if they don’t find out about you being -.”

“Don’t,” he cuts him off. “Seriously, Robert. Just leave it.”

“You really think they’d care?” 

His jaw clenches and Robert wonders if he’s pushed too far, but then Aaron exhales slowly and his hands relax on the steering wheel again. 

“Mum wouldn’t,” he says quietly. “Or Lisa, or Debbie. Charity’s bisexual. Cain…” he trails off and shakes his head slightly. “I dunno. It doesn’t matter anyway. It ain’t as simple as whether or not they’d stick by me. It’s…if they _knew_ …” He stops, teeth clicking together.

Robert frowns. He just doesn’t get it. He doesn’t understand. Aaron himself is saying that most of the family wouldn’t be bothered about his sexuality, and Robert doubts that _any_ of them would, if he’s honest. Dingles stick together, no matter what, and Robert’s seen the respect and affection the likes of Cain have for Aaron, even if he doesn’t try to show it. They’d never turn their back on Aaron. 

After a moment, Aaron sighs. “Us Dingles…look, you cut one of us, and all of us bleed, right? That’s the family motto, I suppose.” 

Robert’s certain he’s probably heard it before. It makes sense for the Dingles, for the way they protect and defend each other, from the coppers and from the other folk in the village, no matter what. 

He thinks about that and tries to clock what Aaron _isn’t_ saying.

“But your family isn’t just the Dingles,” he says. “Your surname is Livesy.”

Aaron’s expression hardens, the shutters going down, and Robert knows he’s on the right track, even if Aaron doesn’t answer.

“Who cares what he thinks about your sexuality?” Robert presses. “He chucked you out, didn’t he? He _already_ left ya.”

Even as he says it, he knows it isn’t as simple as that. After all, even after he left Emmerdale, even after Jack’s death, he still hid that part of himself, still hid who he was because of how his dad had reacted to him. Maybe it’s similar for Aaron. His dad might be a bastard, but Aaron still wants his approval, somehow.

“Leave it,” Aaron warns, and there’s something dark in his voice, something that makes Robert actually listen to the implicit threat this time.

So he drops that line of conversation, but he doesn’t shut up. Aaron’s opening up, slowly and reluctantly; it’s like prying open a locked door with nothing but bloodied fingernails. Robert reckons it’d be easier to pull teeth than to get Aaron to share, but his efforts are working, even just a little bit, and it’s enough to encourage him to continue, to keep pushing.

“Does _anyone_ know?” he asks. “Back home, I mean.”

He hesitates, then shrugs. “I reckon Adam might. We’ve never talked about it, not since all that with Holly, so I dunno.”

Robert nods slowly. “So, Jackson. He seems…nice.”

But Aaron shakes his head and doesn’t reply, and Robert knows that he’s got everything out of Aaron that he will tonight, so he falls silent.

The stereo is off; silence stretches between them. Aaron doesn’t glance his way once on the drive back to Emmerdale. Robert gazes out of the window, but in the dark, the scenery is even less gripping. The headlights spill pale yellow across the road, illuminating hedges and trees and signs, but he finds himself trying to watch the stars instead. Here, out in the sticks where there’s minimal light pollution, the sky is scattered with tiny pinpricks of light. He can actually see them, something he hadn’t realised he’d missed while he’d been in London. 

It’d been easier to slip into anonymity there. Not that being anonymous is what he’d wanted, but it had afforded him a lot of advantages – for one, there was less attention on him since no one knew who he was, which meant he pulled off a lot more stunts that would have been too reckless back in Emmerdale. Like landing his first job, for instance, and spending months playing the long game, manoeuvring and manipulating until he took his manager’s job right out from under him – all it had taken was a little fiddling with the finances and some flirting with the accounting supervisor. 

The noise and light and constant movement in London had drowned everything else out. But now, here, it’s so quiet and still, even for a village as rocked by drama and gossip as Emmerdale. He feels seen, constantly. He’s starting to wonder if it’s necessarily a bad thing.

When they approach the bridge just past the sign welcoming them into the village, Aaron slows to a crawl. Robert suspects he wants him to get out here, just in case anyone sees them together. The paranoia would be laughable if it wasn’t so bloody tragic to watch unfold, especially knowing _he’d_ been that lost once, just a short while ago.

“Wylie’s Farm,” he says, and Aaron finally stops completely, casting him a shadowed glance.

“You what?”

“It’s empty,” Robert explains. “No one lives there. No one about for miles, either, and there’s no reason for anyone to go up there. It would just be us.”

“So?” he asks, and Robert knows he’s being deliberately obtuse.

“So,” he says, a little harder than intended. “Are we going there or what?”

Aaron looks away, gazing out of the windshield. The headlights are still on, catching on the water where the road dips and turns towards the old bridge. It ripples and gleams in the darkness; faintly, over the whisper of the heaters, Robert can hear the rush of the water. It isn’t exactly fast-moving, but the bitter December wind is churning everything up, including the river. Everything else around them is still and silent. 

“Not tonight,” Aaron says finally.

“When?” 

“Tomorrow,” he answers, still not looking Robert’s way. “One o’clock. I’ll meet you up there.”

He nods. “Tomorrow, then.”

Aaron doesn’t say anything else, so Robert cuts his losses and climbs out, closing the door quietly. He watches the car drive away, rolling over the bridge before disappearing round the bend, and tucks his hands into his pockets, unable to help but feel a little smug. 

After all, _tomorrow_ is an improvement. It isn’t Aaron giving in to him in the heat and passion of the moment; it’s more. It’s an admission. It’s a promise - one Robert fully intends to make the most of.

***

Andy’s in Vic’s kitchen the next morning.

Robert’s up early – he hadn’t slept well, cold and pent up with thoughts about Aaron and how to tackle this whole situation – but of course Andy’s up even earlier, already dressed in his grubby overalls and making visits. He keeps farm hours. Robert lost that habit a long, long time ago.

“What are you doing here?” Robert demands.

Vic’s sighs, casting him a chiding look over her shoulder. She’s still in her fluffy dressing gown, her hair tangled up in a messy ponytail, and she’s busy making a brew as Andy flicks idly though the newspaper spread out on the table. 

“Don’t start,” she warns.

“I came to see Vic,” Andy replies, leaning back in his chair. “I see you’re still dossing about here, then.”

“Oi,” Vic says, and this time her look is aimed at Andy. “Leave it out. He’s got nowhere else to go.”

Robert pulls a face. “Thanks for that.”

“Yeah, well,” Andy says. “He might have somewhere to go if he wasn’t determined to muck everything up for himself all the time.”

“Haven’t you got somewhere you need to be?” Robert shoots back. “Scooping up pig shit, maybe?”

“Work, you mean,” Andy replies. “Hard graft. Something you don’t know about. What are _your_ plans for today, then? Laze about on your sister’s sofa, feeling sorry for yourself?”

“Andy,” Vic cuts in, exasperated. “Will ya stop it? _Both_ of ya? It’s too early for your bickering. It’s doing my head in.”

“Actually,” Robert says. “I’m doing some job hunting today.”

Vic brightens, holding out a cup of tea. “Yeah? That’s good.” 

“Sounds like she’s trying to get rid of ya, mate,” Andy mutters as he accepts his own cuppa.

“He’s welcome to stay as long as he likes,” Vic says, her tone hard. “Stop it. I’m sick of being stuck in the middle.”

Robert shrugs slightly. There’s plenty he could say to Andy, but he isn’t. For once, he’s at least trying to be civil…well, as civil as he _can_ be with Andy, anyway. If Andy wants to keep making nasty little comments, then that’s on him, not Robert. 

Still, he can’t help but feel smug, and he lets it show in his smirk. Because while Andy will be busy getting knee-deep in cow muck and working his arse off in the freezing cold, Robert does have plans – and they’re not job hunting. He fully intends to be shagging Aaron senseless all afternoon, up in one of the barns at Wiley’s Farm…the same farm he knows Andy and Katie are desperate to buy, but have no hope of affording.

He hadn’t thought of it when he’d suggested it to Aaron. He’d only been thinking about getting the privacy Aaron obviously needs, somewhere remote where they’re unlikely to be caught. But now he _has_ thought about it, he can’t help but feel cocky, even if it is, admittedly, a bit petty. And it’s not like Andy will ever know about what Robert’s getting up to this afternoon, but it doesn’t matter – because Robert knows, and it still feels like a one-up over his brother.

Andy has no clue why Robert’s smirking, but it obviously still gets to him. It’s too easy to rile his brother up these days. He used to be a lot more laidback and easy-going; it used to take real effort to get his back up. Nowadays, probably thanks to a lot of what went on while Robert was gone, all it takes is a calculated smile to piss Andy off. 

Scowling, he drains his tea, despite how hot it must be, and gets to his feet, his chair scraping loudly across the kitchen tiles.

“Forget it,” he says. “I should get to work anyway.”

Vic sighs. “Andy…”

“I’ll catch you later, yeah?” 

He gives her shoulder a brief squeeze, shoulders his way past Robert, and leaves without a backwards glance, the front door clattering shut behind him. Vic tilts her head back, gaze going heavenward as if looking for strength, before she slants Robert a look. He lifts one shoulder in a lazy shrug, taking a sip from his own brew.

“I didn’t run him out,” he says. “Don’t look at me.”

She shakes her head. “I know. It’s okay. I just…I wish you two could get on.”

“I don’t think that will ever happen,” he points out lowly, refusing to feel guilty when she frowns at him. “I’m just saying. Don’t hope for impossible things, you know?”

“You’re brothers,” she counters. “If you just stopped winding each other up all the time…”

“I think we’re well past that, Vic.”

“I hate being stuck in the middle. I hate feeling like I have to choose, or pick a side every time you two are in the same room. It’s bloody tiring, Robert. We’re all sick of it.”

He doesn’t say anything. What _can_ he say? That everything will be okay and he and Andy will hold hands and skip around the village together? It’s never gonna happen. There’s so much water under the bridge that the bridge can’t even be fucking _seen_ anymore. And now Andy is back with Katie, who makes no secret of how much she despises Robert, there’s absolutely no chance of anything ever being okay between them. 

She purses her lips at his silence, shaking her head slightly. But she changes the topic, grabbing a bowl from the cupboard.

“Are you coming to the pub later?” she asks.

“Depends,” he replies. “Why?”

She shakes cornflakes into the bowl and fetches the milk back out from the fridge. “Adam gets out today.”

“That was quick.”

“Good behaviour,” she replies. “He’ll be tagged for three months, though. But it’s nice he’ll finally be home. Moira said to expect him at the pub at about five, so.” 

“Right,” he says. “That’s…nice? I don’t really know him, Vic. I doubt he’ll care if I’m there or not.”

She rolls her eyes at him and shovels a spoonful of cornflakes into her mouth, then speaks around the mush. “’Course he won’t,” she agrees. “But it might be good for you to get out, you know. Stop moping around here.”

“I’m not _moping_.”

“It’s just a few drinks,” Vic adds. “I’ll be working, but I’ll join ya when I finish my shift. It’ll be fun.”

Robert considers it. He has no idea what he’ll be doing at five; ideally, _hopefully_ , he’ll still be with Aaron, though, admittedly, it isn’t exactly likely, not with how skittish Aaron is about intimacy. Still, he won’t make any promises. Just in case.

“I’ll try and make it,” he says, and she smiles.

“Good. You owe me a pint, anyway.”

***

Aaron’s already at the barn when Robert arrives, and Robert is definitely a little early. He tries not to grin, but Aaron must see it anyway because he frowns slightly. 

“What?” he demands.

“You’re early.”

His frown deepens. “And?”

Robert shrugs. “I thought you might have stood me up.”

“It was tempting,” he retorts, and Robert lets his smile widen.

“But not as tempting as me,” he drawls.

“You’re so cocky, you know that?”

“It’s been said.”

Aaron doesn’t say anything else, and a moment of silence stretches between them. The door to the barn is shut and locked behind Robert. There’s nothing around them except for empty farm buildings and then a good mile of fields and land. The nearest main road isn’t in view of Wiley’s; no one will see their cars, especially since they’re parked safely tucked behind a shed. 

It’s just them. 

Aaron looks good, _ridiculously_ good. He’s dressed in his usual black hoodie, his mechanics overalls tied around his waist. His arms are folded across his chest. Even with the bulky fabric of the hoodie, it’s easy to see how strong Aaron is, how toned his biceps are. His stubble has grown out a little more and it suits him, but the most gorgeous thing about him is his eyes – pale, intense, and focused entirely on Robert, lit up with his own interest. 

There was a time when Robert would be ashamed or embarrassed by how turned on he is, by how desperately attracted to Aaron he feels, but he’s not now. Aaron drives him wild just by existing and he wants him. He wants him so much he aches with it, and right now, they’re alone.

So he strides forward, captures Aaron’s jaw in his hands, and slants his mouth down over his. 

Aaron reacts instantly, his own hands coming up to fist in Robert’s jacket as he kisses him back, hard and fierce. The barn is freezing, but Aaron’s mouth is hot, and his touch leaves little electric sparks on Robert’s skin as his thumb grazes his throat under the collar of his jacket. Arousal curls hot and heavy in his gut and he presses forward, backing Aaron up until they stumble into an old stack of hay. 

The bale on top wobbles precariously and they both pause, glancing up, then quickly duck away when it topples over, landing on the floor with a _thud_. Dust flurries into the air and Aaron blinks down at the bale. For a second, neither of them make a sound. Then Aaron laughs, low and slightly breathless.

“Bit hazardous,” he says.

Robert grins, pressing him up against the more stable bulk of hay bales. “Adds to the thrill,” he murmurs, leaning in to kiss him again.

Aaron ducks back slightly. “The thrill?” he repeats, eyes narrowing. “This is a _thrill_ to you?”

“Shagging you? Yeah. Isn’t sex supposed to be thrilling?”

“Robert.”

He sighs. “I didn’t mean it like that, alright? I wasn’t saying that your whole… _secrecy_ thing is a thrill. I don’t take enjoyment in your situation, okay?”

Aaron starts to withdraw, his hands slipping from Robert’s jacket.

“Oi,” Robert adds. “It’s a wonder you don’t buckle from the weight of that chip on your shoulder, you know.”

“Watch your mouth,” Aaron warns. 

“Or what?” he challenges, leaning in closer. 

He’s still learning to navigate this push-and-pull with Aaron; still learning when to press and when to back off. But this is definitely the time to push, because he knows how Aaron will respond.

A fraction of a second later, Aaron kisses him, hauling him in until their bodies are pressed tightly together again. His hands tug impatiently at Robert’s jacket, making quick work of undressing him, but Robert isn’t eager to slow down, either. He helps Aaron shed his jacket and the shirt he’s wearing underneath, carelessly discarding them on the dusty floor. 

The frigid December air is like ice against Robert’s skin. He shivers slightly, unpleasantly, and wonders if, next time, he should bring a battery operated heater or something. And then all thoughts fly out of his head as Aaron starts kissing down his throat and across his collarbone, his fingers easily undoing his belt. He tugs it free from Robert’s jeans, dropping it to the pile of clothes on the floor.

“What do you want?” Robert asks breathlessly.

Aaron pulls back, looking at him. His pupils are blown wide and his expression is so serious, so _intent_ , that it sends a shiver through Robert – this time, it’s definitely a pleasant one. Then, in wordless answer, he drops to his knees, unbuttons and lowers the zipper on Robert’s jeans, and slides his hand inside.

The first clever touch of Aaron’s fingers has Robert’s breath catching in his chest. He frees him from the confines of his jeans and strokes him slowly, knowingly, his gaze focused on what he’s doing rather than looking up at Robert’s face. Robert wants to coax him into watching him; he wants to see Aaron’s gaze on his face as he blows him, but he knows that might have the potential for disaster. Actually seeing Robert’s reactions to Aaron’s mouth on his cock might be enough to spook Aaron again, and that’s the last thing he wants right now, when he’s hard and aching and almost embarrassingly needy for more.

As usual, Aaron doesn’t waste any time. He licks a slow stripe from base to tip and then takes Robert in his mouth. But this time – this time, there’s this _noise_ he makes, a low hum, throaty and almost _pleased_ , and the sound of it has Robert’s hips twitching and one hand going to the back of Aaron’s head.

Aaron pauses, just for a second, and Robert starts to move his hand away. But then Aaron’s hand comes up, gripping Robert’s thigh for stability as he continues, and Robert stays put, cradling the back of Aaron’s head as he tips his own back, letting his lips part on a quiet sigh. 

“Fuck,” he breathes.

Aaron’s fingers dig into his hip slightly. It doesn’t hurt, not really, but the hard pressure sends a snap of pleasure down Robert’s spine. He braces his other hand against the bales of hay and curves his back slightly, moaning as Aaron works him perfectly, his mouth hot and wet and determined. 

He comes with a low moan, shuddering slightly, and he opens his eyes in time to see Aaron swallow. He pulls off with a slick, lewd sound and rises to feet, gracelessly wiping his mouth with the sleeve of his hoodie. Robert’s still breathless and tingling, but he doesn’t hesitate. Cupping Aaron’s jaw, he kisses him, slow and deep.

Time loses all sense of meaning after that. They kiss, hot and frenzied, and, somehow, they end up on top of the bales where they can lie down. It isn’t exactly comfortable; the bales are hard and the hay is scratchy, but Robert spreads out his own jacket for Aaron to lie on and decides that, next time, he’ll bring a blanket or two as well as a heater. 

Aaron doesn’t twitch when Robert takes him in his mouth, but, from the corner of his eye, he does see Aaron’s fingers curl, digging into the hay underneath him. A slow, trembling exhale escapes him and while it isn’t what Robert wants – what he’s hoping to tease out of Aaron – he still counts it as a win, still gets a thrill from it that encourages him to keep going. 

Aaron doesn’t touch him, but his hips do shift, ever so slightly, as if he can’t help but seek the heat of Robert’s mouth. When he comes, his thighs tense and his breath catches, and Robert swallows and keeps going until Aaron finally does make a low sound, one of overstimulation. Gruffly, he pushes Robert away, and Robert grins, crawling back up until he can kiss him – but Aaron flinches back slightly.

“What?” Robert challenges lowly. “Taste of another bloke’s come is okay, but tasting your own, that’s too gay?”

“Shut up,” he mutters.

“Grouch.”

“Wind-up,” he counters.

Robert doesn’t contest that, since Aaron probably has a fair point. Instead, he shifts until he’s lying down next to Aaron, ignoring the roughness of the hay against the bare skin of his back. Aaron has one arm covering his face, but he doesn’t move away, which is definitely progress.

They don’t speak for several minutes, though it’s not awkward. Robert gazes up at the beams zig-zagging across the roof of the barn. It’s old and creaky, protesting at the wind battering it, but it’s still standing, which says a lot about the craftmanship. Robert thought he left secret fumbles in the hay well behind him in his teenage years, but here he is. He can’t say he minds it, though. There’s something a little romantic about it, actually – the two of them here, side by side, in their own little world they’ve created.

“So,” he says eventually. “How long have you got?”

Aaron fumbles with one hand until he finds his discarded overalls. Digging his phone out of the pocket, he checks the time. “Should leave soon,” he replies.

“Stay,” Robert coaxes immediately. “We could make an afternoon of it.”

Aaron’s mouth curves into a slight smile. “Bit cocky about your stamina, aren’t ya?”

“Trust me, it isn’t cockiness. I’ll happily prove it to you.”

“I can’t,” he replies. “I have work. This is supposed to be my lunch break.”

Robert laughs a little. “Aren’t you supposed to regain calories after working all morning, not spend your break burning even more?”

He shrugs. “Yeah, well. This is more interesting than eating some lunch. Marginally.”

“Thanks for that,” Robert deadpans. “I’ll try not to let that little ego boost go to my head.”

“Good. I reckon your head is big enough as it is.”

Grinning, Robert rolls onto his side to face Aaron and reaches out to grip his chin gently, drawing him into a slow, deep kiss. “Stay,” he says again. “Just for a bit longer.”

“It’s Cain and Dan’s day off and Debbie’s out on a call until later. I’m working by myself for most of this afternoon,” Aaron replies. “So I can’t afford to be late getting back. Debbie will have a right go if I don’t get today’s jobs finished.”

“If it’s just you, then there’s no one around to _know_ you’re late,” he counters. “Come on. Unless you don’t think _your_ stamina is up to it.”

“I’m not the one if my thirties,” Aaron gripes, but he presses closer to kiss Robert again.

It’s a little more languid this time, now they’ve both come and that initial wild frenzy of attraction has soothed to a pleasant simmer. There’s something softer about it, the slow, easy slide of their mouths, that has Robert’s chest going tight with something he doesn’t want to name. What he _does_ want is to roll Aaron onto his back and kiss him deeper, so he does, one hand drifting down his torso. His fingers catch on the bottom of Aaron’s shirt and he slides them up, underneath the worn fabric to explore the taut plane of his stomach.

Aaron’s skin isn’t as smooth as he’d been expecting. He’s hard and toned, his strength obvious under the curious brush of Robert’s fingers, but his skin is uneven, soft in some places and rough and raised in others. It isn’t until Aaron goes completely still and tense and Robert’s fingertip traces a sharp, sloping line under Aaron’s ribs that the pieces click together.

He withdraws his hand quickly, even as Aaron sits up, tugging his shirt down. He folds his arms over his chest defensively – no, protectively, like he’s trying to shield himself. 

“I’m sorry,” Robert rushes out. “I wasn’t thinking. I didn’t – sorry.”

“Forget about it,” Aaron grits out.

He swallows, sitting up. “Aaron…those scars…”

“They’re nothing,” he cuts him off sharply. “Just leave it, yeah?”

“Nothing?” Robert repeats incredulously. “Come on. You didn’t get those from a yachting accident, did ya?”

Aaron’s expression shuts down even more at the remark and Robert wants to bite the words back, wants to swallow his own tongue for saying something so stupid. He watches as Aaron gets to his feet and starts to get dressed, tugging his overalls on over his jeans with quick, rough movements.

They make sense. The scars. It explains why Aaron hadn’t wanted to take his shirt off, why he’d refused to let Robert touch him there last time. It fits with Aaron’s self-disgust about who he is. But it’s still something Robert never expected. For all that he’s seen Aaron’s fight with his sexuality, he’d never have thought that Aaron would actually self-harm. 

He thinks about what Vic told him, weeks ago, about Aaron’s suicide attempt. He wonders if the cutting started after that. Wonders how recent some of those marks are, and whether they’re a placeholder, an outlet until Aaron can try again – and succeed.

“Do you really hate yourself that much?” he asks. His voice is quiet, wretched, and he knows Aaron hears the misery in it, but he doesn’t turn around.

“I told you to leave it,” he says darkly.

“Aaron…”

“What’s it to you, anyway?” Aaron bites out.

“I care about ya.”

His laugh is short and bitter. “Come off it. You like getting your dick wet, more like. I’m just…convenient.”

“Convenient?” Robert repeats. “How is _anything_ about this – about us, you – convenient, Aaron?”

“No strings. You can keep swanning about and playing your games with your missus, but get your rocks off whenever you feel a bit horny ‘cause you know I’m here.”

“Yeah, because you’re _definitely_ the easy option,” Robert snaps. “You don’t know _anything_. Is that really what you think of me? That I’m – what? Tormenting Chrissie? We haven’t spoken outside of the divorce stuff.”

He just shrugs. “Whatever. I want nothing to do with it, alright?”

Robert stares at him for a moment, anger and rejection and something like shame – shame that, maybe not so long ago, Aaron would have been _right_ – working him up. 

“Tell me one thing about _any_ of my actions the last few days that would imply I don’t care about you,” he challenges. “If I didn’t care, I wouldn’t have waited for ya in town. I wouldn’t have come here today. I wouldn’t _still_ be here, you prat.”

Aaron doesn’t say anything. His back is to Robert, his shoulders tense and his hands curled into shaking fists, but he doesn’t say a single word. Frustration snarls up in Robert’s chest, leaves him almost breathless for a second.

“So, what?” he demands. “You refuse to love yourself, which means no one else could ever _possibly_ care about you? So you shout, and you throw your weight around and you say nasty, poisonous bullshit in order to push them away.”

He knows he’s hit the nail on the head. Aaron spins around, his movements jerky and defensive. His jaw is clenched, a muscle twitching slightly, and anger stains spots of red over his cheekbones. Robert looks at him for a moment, but he’s already lost his grip on his own anger. Instead, he just feels sad.

“Fine,” he says quietly. “Fine. Congratulations, you’ve succeeded. Consider me well and truly pushed away.”

He doesn’t wait for a response, though he’s aware it’s unlikely he’d even get one. Instead, he finishes dressing and walks past Aaron and out of the barn, letting the door shut behind him with a dull _thud_. 

Aaron doesn’t follow him and Robert doesn’t turn back. Right now, walking away is the best thing he can do.

It’s the _only_ thing he can do.

***

He goes to the pub that evening because he knows Vic is expecting him there, but it isn’t until he’s already inside that he realises it’s probably the last place he should be.

Adam Barton is stood at the bar, draining a pint in a few quick, impressive gulps; clearly, he’d missed beer while he’d been banged up. Vic quirks an eyebrow at him but immediately pulls him another drink with a smile on her mouth. 

There’s a whole cluster of people here to celebrate Adam’s return: his family, of course – Moira and James, and Cain leaning obnoxiously against the end of the bar. But a few of the Dingles are here, too, rallying around Adam, and a couple of villagers sidle up to clap Adam on the shoulder or tell him they’re happy he’s back.

And, naturally, Aaron is stood right at Adam’s side.

He looks happier than Robert has ever seen him – which, considering his usual sullen disposition, isn’t exactly a mean feat, but Robert’s never seen him smile like _this_. Wide and unabashed, his eyes sparkling, genuine joy on his face at having his best mate back. 

Quietly, Robert finds a seat at a table and sits down, keeping his distance. Still, he can’t help but keep glancing over, watching as Aaron and Adam exchange playful punches on the shoulder or side. Aaron doesn’t flinch away or tense at Adam’s touch; he welcomes it and returns it, carefree and laughing as he teases his friend and gets a few barbs in return. They talk, separate now from the others, probably catching up, and there’s an easy, soft camaraderie that has Robert’s gut twisting up.

It’s stupid to be jealous. Adam is straight and he doubts Aaron would have carried on a secret relationship with his best friend all these years; he’d be too paranoid about people finding out. But Robert feels a little spike of irritation all the same, that ugly, envious part of him surging, briefly, to the surface.

He’s tried to avoid jealousy, ever since Katie. Mostly, he’d succeeded by refusing to get close enough to anyone to be able to feel jealousy – Chrissie included. But he’s tumbled right back into it before he could help it. He’s allowed himself to get too close, and the jealousy he feels now, simply from watching Aaron smile like that because of someone else, someone that isn’t _him_ , is harsher and more infuriating than any he’s ever felt before, even with Katie. It’s a little startling.

Pushing to his feet, he starts for the doors, but Vic catches his eye and beckons him over. Aaron and Adam are playing darts now, so Robert finds a space at the bar, leaning against it with his arms folded on the glossy surface.

“What’s up?” Vic asks, pouring a pint for another punter.

“Nothing.”

She raises her eyebrows. “Yeah, well, you might wanna try telling your face that.”

Before he can reply, a burst of loud laughter behind him makes him grit his teeth for a second. He glances over his shoulder at Aaron and Adam, and then quickly looks back at Vic, trying to get a hold of himself. This is pathetic. _He’s_ being pathetic.

“So,” he says. “They’re close.”

Vic rolls her eyes. “Oh, Adam’s just the love of Aaron’s life, that’s all.” She smiles at his expression and adds, “They’re inseparable, those two. Have been for years. Like two peas in a pod, I suppose.”

“Hm.”

“Oh, stop looking like that. You might have mates like that too, if you stopped behaving like a prat all the time.” She wipes her hands on her front. “Right. Do you want a pint, then?”

From the corner of his eye, he sees Aaron lean against the bar a few spaces down, flagging down Alicia to order another round for him and Adam. When Robert glances his way properly, Aaron doesn’t meet his gaze, but his expression does go as cold and hard as stone. Robert forces his gaze back to Vic, trying to control his own frown.

“No,” he says. “I’m going into town, actually.”

She blinks, surprised. “By yourself?”

He shrugs. “Apparently, since I don’t have any of those mates you mentioned. Thanks for that, by the way.”

“You know I’m right, though.” She pauses, then asks, “Are you meeting this person, then?”

“What person?”

“The ‘big mistake’ person,” she says slowly, in a _duh_ sort of tone. “The one who doesn’t want more even though you do.”

Robert is sharply aware of Aaron’s presence, well within hearing range, and mortification buzzes through him. He refuses to look over; instead, he holds Vic’s gaze and tries to control his expression, though he knows the tension must be obvious in his shoulders.

“Just leave it out, yeah?” he snaps. “I’m just going into town.”

For a second, she looks wounded at his tone, and then she shrugs, her own expression going belligerent. “Right, then. I won’t wait up for ya. Have fun, I suppose.”

Before he can try to smooth things over or apologise, she’s off, plastering a smile on her face as she greets another customer. Swearing under his breath, Robert pushes away from the bar and turns – and finds Aaron looking right at him.

His gaze flashes away instantly and his expression is completely unreadable, but his eyes, in that split second, had been intense enough to steal Robert’s breath. But then he’s turning away, collecting two pints without another glance Robert’s way, and Robert quietly slips through the doors, leaving the warmth and noise of the pub behind him.

***

He goes to _Alibi_ , a newer, more upscale club that’s trying to break through the small-town grunginess of Hotten.

It reminds him a lot of the places he used to go to in London, a sophisticated yet eclectic mix of the Shoreditch hipster places and Soho’s cocktail bars. It isn’t too packed, since it’s a weeknight, but it’s busy enough that it doesn’t feel awkward to go in by himself. 

He orders a lager at the bar and then turns to lean his back against it, elbows propped idly on the surface. A crowd has started to gather on the dancefloor and he watches, scouting out the faces and bodies he sees. A guy – fit, good-looking, with light hair and a crisp white shirt – looks up, catching Robert’s gaze. 

He doesn’t look away. Instead, he gives Robert a deliberate once-over, taking in the slant of his body where he’s leaning against the bar, before his gaze slowly tracks back up to meet Robert’s. 

Robert lets his mouth curve into a slow smile and winks.

Less than a minute later, the guy joins him at the bar, leaning against it next to Robert. This close, Robert can see that his hair is a pale reddish-blonde, and his eyes are dark under the flashing beams of the club’s strobe lights. He’s attractive in a classic, clean, perfectly-tailored kind of way, his smile showing perfect white teeth, his jaw completely shaven and his hair freshly, meticulously cut. 

He’s nothing like Aaron. Robert offers him an inviting smile.

“Can I buy you a drink?” he asks, and the guy nods.

“I’ll have a sidecar, thanks,” he says, then adds, “Lewis.”

“Robert,” he returns, flagging down the bartender. 

He tries not to show his dry amusement as he orders the cocktail, sliding a twenty over the bar with the full knowledge that he’s unlikely to get more than a fiver back; the drinks in this place are obscenely overpriced. He wonders if Lewis is trying to impress him with his flashy order, but dismisses that thought immediately. Frankly, he doesn’t really care.

Lewis is outgoing and flirty, acutely aware of how good-looking he is and experienced with his moves. He touches Robert’s arm with light, teasing fingers, offers grins that, ordinarily, would invite Robert closer, invite him to lean in and kiss it right off Lewis’s mouth. The press of Lewis’s body against his own as they shuffle closer to make room for other patrons is blatant and unmistakeable, an enticement that Robert wouldn’t usually turn down.

But he finds himself not even listening to whatever Lewis is saying, barely responding to the flirty lines and polite questions. He watches him, feels his touch, and he can only think one thing.

He isn’t Aaron.

So when Lewis drains the rest of his second drink and asks, “Should we get out of here?”, Robert realises that he doesn’t want to. Any interest he had when he first saw Lewis is gone, fizzled away to nothing but a hollow feeling in his gut and a sour taste in his mouth.

“Yeah,” he says. “Yeah, I should, uh. I should get going. I have an early start tomorrow.”

Lewis raises an eyebrow. “You could come back to mine,” he suggests. “I only live about twenty minutes away.”

“Nah, you’re alright.”

Rejection flickers across his face and he frowns. “You offered to buy me a drink,” he points out, and Robert sighs.

“Look,” he says harshly. “Take the hint, mate. I’m not interested.”

Lewis shakes his head. “ _Wow_ ,” he mutters, and turns, quickly walking away.

Scowling, Robert drains the rest of his lager, setting down the empty bottle a little too hard on the bar. The bloke behind it eyes him warily, but Robert’s already pushing away from the bar. He leaves, stepping out into the cold air, and lets the slap of it against his flushed cheeks cool some of his frustration. 

He supposes it’s ironic, maybe, or karma finally biting him in the arse, because after all these years, he’s found someone who doesn’t want him.

But the only person he wants is Aaron.

**Author's Note:**

> \---> allirica over on tumblr.


End file.
